


Bitter Monsters

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Completely removed from MH canon as far as I know, Gen, M/M, modern day bitter monsters, werewolf and fairy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim is looking for somebody who will be able to contain him when the full moon is out and about. Jay is looking for somebody like himself so that maybe he won't be so alone.</p><p>Neither of them are sure they'll find what they're searching for in one another but they stumble into one another's lives nonetheless, and they are there to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Craigslist

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for some classism and possibly homophobia. This isn't in any way related to 'A dog and a fairy walk into a bar...' and is a prequel of sorts to 'Supernatural Creatures Deal in Vices Too'.  
> Credit goes to Rose (http://mossonhighheels.tumblr.com/) for reminding me that Jay would use 1234 in his email address before any other set of available numbers. :P

In today’s world, the Internet is one of the most useful tools as a means of calling upon a certain individual in the hopes of borrowing their talents. One could search for a babysitter to take care of their children for the night. On top of that, if one looks hard enough and truly feels that much animosity towards somebody in their life, they could find an assassin and have them take care of the problem. Anything and everything is out there, waiting to be snatched up by the right person.

This matter that Jay drudged up on Craigslist is in a strange sort of limbo between simple and serious. 

‘I need somebody to stay with me for the night. I don’t trust myself alone. I’ve lived with lycanthropy for a year now and I try my best to get myself as far from Tuscaloosa as possible when the hairy little problem becomes, well, a problem.’

‘But I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I can’t always get back home in time for my job, for family and all of that, and I don’t want my life to fall apart when I’ve managed to keep it together for this long.’

‘Whoever answers this ad has to be capable of protecting both themselves and me. You have to be able to keep me in my house, and if I hurt anyone, you can’t hesitate to call the police on me and have them take me down.’

‘I don’t know if there is anyone out there strong enough to restrain me. But there are werewolves. If there are werewolves, there must be more to the world. I hope there is. I really need there to be something powerful as I am to keep me from hurting others.’

‘I know there will be people who read this and laugh. That’s fine. You can say this isn’t real and that’s the beauty of it, I don’t have to deal with being accused of lying about anything serious.’

‘If you can help me, please contact me before…’

A set date is below the last line. It’s next Monday; the first Monday in December, in fact. Snow is forecasted to fall upon the dusty southern roads that day. Looks like two unbelievable events may be taking place come nightfall.

Jay isn’t one of those people who will be laughing when they read this plea for help. He came scrolling through Craigslist for this exact kind of ad. How lucky is he, when he hadn’t truly believed that he would find anyone else as wrapped up in the supernatural as him, so involved that they are one of the creatures that make up the supernatural. 

Just like him.

Being a fairy isn’t the worst situation in the world. Like one ought to expect, it has its pros and cons. 

Mortality isn’t an issue, just a bit tiring when he knows he has to cut off a human friend because they’re aging and he’s still stuck with this disgusting baby face. At least he gets to feel good about himself by keeping an eye on those he had to leave behind and giving them a little push in the right direction by tweaking circumstances. Oh, they won’t let you get that big promotion? Well, let’s see how they feel /now/. 

Still, it’s a lonely life, keeping these powers to himself and moving through the world knowing nothing will ever be permanent and set in stone. If he has ever met another fairy, then he isn’t aware of it. Perhaps they keep it on the down low, just as he does, and they’re as isolated as he is. 

Which means he has no chance of meeting one in real life and thus, the internet becomes his only hope of proper companionship that’s healthy in its lack of secrets. 

There is a feeling of desperation to it, searching through forum after forum for people who legitimately appear to be like him. He wants to find people who understand issues as simple as dealing with brushing sparkles off their sheets every morning-- or, something like making sure they don’t accidentally steer somebody into walking into traffic with their mind solely because they’re annoyed with that person. 

This library knows Jay’s face and presence well. The staff rarely assigns anybody to this computer, off to the side and directly next to a window where the sun’s glare makes the screen near impossible to read. He likes to think they’re saving this clanky desktop for him but he knows better; nobody wants this computer. Not after the creepy man-boy creature who comes in here every day has had his hands on the keyboard, looking as though he got back from a long night at the gay club downtown with glitter fluttering off of him and his bloodshot eyes. 

(He can’t help that he can’t sleep well. There aren’t any trees to hide inside around here, all the fucking trees are cut down, and the kids stomp on the flowers willy nilly, disgusting little things--)

No, no, he’s getting angry, breathe, breathe in this artificial air blown off by the AC, no, this isn’t the time or place. 

If this ad is to be trusted, then the library won’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s spent months reading argument after argument from humans who debated whether monsters like him existed, unable to pick out an account that was spoken from the creature in question’s point of view. This person, a Tim Wright, isn’t a fairy by any means, but he’s the first one to openly state that he isn’t human and that he is searching for companionship-- sort of. A team, a partnership, or, a babysitter, actually, but that’s better than nothing and considering he lives in the same state, it can’t get any more convenient for Jay.

Pulling up Google, he creates a throwaway account in two minutes flat, helpingafriendinneed1234. He answers the ad, hoping that his short spiel will suffice: 

‘I’m currently close to the Tuscaloosa airport. Give me directions to your place from there; I’ll come by and show you what I’m capable of. If you think I’m good enough for the job, I’ll take it. I’m like you. If I told anyone what I was, nobody would believe me and they’d laugh. I don’t even want to tell you right away because I’m sure you’ll be too quick to judge due to what you’ve read in fairytales and seen in movies. Please reply back soon.’

Tim responds in five minutes. Something tells Jay he’s been glued to his computer since he posted the ad.

He doesn’t say anything. There is only a link to Google Maps, giving Jay directions into a park apparently known as Rosswood. Jay has to raise his eyebrows at that; if he’s about to meet up with a serial killer, then… so be it, he’s willing to take that risk. Not like he couldn’t easily change Tim’s mind if he decides his skin looks good enough to wear.

For what he hopes will be the last time, he clears the internet history, and logs out, leaving the computer open for anybody who might not have a problem touching the sparkles he’s leaving behind. He stoops down and takes his raggedy backpack out from beneath the glass desk, slinging it onto his shoulder and ignoring the ominous banging around from within. 

That’s everything, isn’t it? He doesn’t have extra bars of soap or toothpaste hidden in the beer bottle littered alley behind the library, right? No secret stashes of cash from odd jobs and raking leaves for old people? He gives his backpack a tentative shake, the resulting sound of plastic and metal slapping against each other attracting the stares of the less rattily dressed people sitting at the computers next door. Yep, he’s good to go.

Nothing is more relieving than knowing one doesn’t have to go back to the place that scorns them most-- Jay even dares to smile at the working librarian as he shuffles out of the single room building, recalling his first day speaking to her. He asked for a computer and she hesitated for too long, looking him up and down. He hadn’t been able to get to a Laundromat that day, and she had clearly already made up her mind about him, that she definitely didn’t want him on her computers but she couldn’t tell him no.

She frowns after him now, lips a tight line and eyes narrowed as she peers at him over her wire glasses. Jay waves his fingers at her before slipping out into the night, glowing brighter than any of the streetlamps as the excitement rolls over him and leaves his blood hot.


	2. Judgmental Mutts and Pixies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay quite literally flies out to meet Tim Wright, only to discover he isn't the hulking beast he was expecting-- and it turns out Tim wasn't expecting his savior to be a twinkly and twiggy pile of temper, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting an extra long chapter in honor of the Blood Moon.  
> If I missed any trigger warnings please let me know.

It wasn’t easy finding an actual real live payphone, considering it’s the twenty first century. Not like Jay can go and ask a stranger on the street for their cell phone; he’s tried before and the reaction he receives when they discover he’s left a thin sheen of glitter on the mouth and ear piece… it’s never very pleasant. Besides, he has more quarters on his person than he knows what to do with, might as well make them feel as though they have a purpose.

Four of those quarters go toward summoning a cab, and the rest of them are saved for the driver himself, who turns out to be rather disgruntled at having to count out the coins. Jay doesn’t blame him but there wasn’t any reason for him to be so huffy puffy about it. He’s been called many things over the course of his immortal life but ‘cheap little fruit’ is a new one.

At least the ride was relatively short. Turns out Rosswood isn’t too far from Jay’s usual stakeout spot. He could have walked it if Tim hadn’t demanded that he arrive as soon as possible-- this would’ve taken a full day’s trek across angry highways and dusty dirt roads but Jay is more than accustomed to using his feet to get where he needs to.

(Using his wings is kind of out of the question. Adults might wave off the glittering creature up in the sky as nothing, but children, not so much. Loud little things. Pointing and shrieking until their parents get sick of the high pitched whining and then they realize maybe that is /not/ a bird that’s gotten a hold of some lost jewelry…)

Rosswood is large. That’s Jay’s first impression. Rosswood is very, very large. The taxi kicks him out beside a corkboard display, where notices and pleas for help in finding lost dogs are posted up to the left side and the map is blown up next to them. Winding yellow roads cut through a sea of green that represents the trees. Tim’s provided map provides directions that tell Jay to go off of those roads and out into what’s basically the fucking wilderness. 

Wonderful.

Jay’s fine with wilderness. He would much prefer wilderness over being in the city except the city has means of connecting with others and locating people who might understand him. 

But this place is /huge/. No one else has come out here for a jog today, apparently, if the lack of cars is anything to go by. The towering trees standing several feet in front the park’s lot stretch on in a long line of pure green, beyond the horizon. 

Tim’s directions aren’t vague but they speak of landmarks, like he’s meant to pass by a tree that’s fat and bumpy at the base when he first ducks off of the path known as Nature Walk #2 on the huge map in front of him. This forest is easy to get lost in, and there could easily be more than one fat tree waiting out there.

Alright. Fuck this. Nobody’s around, the worst part of this is going to be the risk of frost bite. He drops his backpack to the ground before going for the hem of his shirt, taking care not to tear the frayed stitching at the collar as he shucks it over his head. It gets carelessly tossed into the last bit of space left in his backpack before he slips the straps on backwards, the bag itself resting against his chest. 

One last glance from side to side provides him with the reassurance he needs to kick up off of the gravel and into the air. Paper thin wings carry him up to a point above the trees, and they send him higher and higher until he can gaze at the park laid out beneath him. The treetops blend together, reminding him of the pictures of the ocean he has seen in library books. Ripples break the supposed sea, creating faux waves. Said ripples are created by the wind, which comes up and blasts Jay’s face until it’s numb with cold, which he supposes is a sign to get fucking moving.

For too long, his view remains the same: rolling shivering waves of green, birds that appear as winged dots emerging from the branches and flitting off into the distance to search for sustenance. He dares to raise higher towards the sky, shrinking the world beneath and compressing the mass of trees. The breeze this high up is maddeningly icy, helpless shivers spiking through his spine and daring to drag him tumbling back to earth. 

Luck is on Jay’s side, though, for a peek of grey sprouts from an area where the greenery isn’t as dense. When he lets his wings carry him there, he discovers a multitude of tree stumps standing like a crowd would in front of a not so homey cabin.

This has to be it.

He takes care in returning to the ground slowly, as much as he might wish to escape the chill threatening to swallow him. Animals shriek and whine at his sudden arrival, and twigs snap as they scamper away from him. All the better; he wouldn’t want to offend their delicate sensibilities with his naked chest. He stretches an arm back over his shoulder, unzipping his backpack and pulling out the first bit of fabric he feels. This too-big-for-him blue tee isn’t what he wore coming here but it’ll do.

With the trees here chopped away, it’s as though those that remain are standing guard around this cabin. It’s a full army, trunks thick and near impossible to slip between. In the fading dusk, they shake and whisper of omens that would have frightened any foolish human passing by. Nothing would dare attack Jay, though. Every beast he has met, be it a guard dog sitting on the corner of a city block or a bear whose cave he intruded upon, they’ve sensed the power that he holds in his fingertips and shied away. They understand what he can do and what he will do to protect himself.

(Maybe that’s the real reason he’s not met a human yet that hasn’t disliked him; even those that warmed up to him needed a good month or two to relax around him. He finds himself comparing the tense nerves in the stare of a disapproving passerby to the wide eyes of a startled animal…)

It’s likely safe to assume the trees that are now stumps were used to build the cabin before him. Not the best work he’s seen, but if this was built by one man, he did a damn good job. The cabin itself is large, walls crafted out of logs shaved of their bark, but there doesn’t appear to be a second floor, and there aren’t any windows to speak of. What he initially saw as a grey spot from up above turns out to be a number of metal sheets nailed to the top of the structure, acting as a rusting roof. Tim can’t get much sleep on the rainy nights when he’s staying here. 

In fact, he doesn’t appear to get much sleep in general-- that is, if the man who abruptly throws open the plain iron door is Tim. He must be; even the most desperate homeless man wouldn’t trek this far into the woods for a place to stay. 

He isn’t… what Jay expected. This is a frazzled young man, budding out of his awkward teenage years and skimming his fingers along the potential to be an adult. His shoulders are bowing together, shortening him further, his thick but nowhere near long legs bringing him to a height between five three and five six-- some spot shorter than Jay. Dark hair riddles his strong arms, and he’s trembling, sending his bangs dangerously close to falling over his eyes and rendering him a participant in a style that went out back in 2005. 

Something in the man’s eyes tells Jay that he isn’t what Tim expected either. He straightens up, attempts to make himself appear taller, but Tim’s frown doesn’t falter.

“Are you the one who answered the ad?” he eventually asks, being the first to break the silence and at the same time confirming that he is indeed Tim. Jay nods, forcing an amiable grin and extending his arm for a handshake that he never receives. Tim turns and stomps back into the house, itching at his arm, particularly around the patch of hair. “I think I’ve made a mistake. You should probably go home.”

“…excuse me?” Jay sputters. He nearly trips over the threshold, chasing Tim into his one room abode. “I spend a good thirty bucks coming up here and you turn me away?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll pay you back when I’m not freaking out, alright?” Tim huffs, crossing towards the mattress unceremoniously placed upon the dusty wood floor. He drops down to sit on it, hugging himself and pointedly avoiding Jay’s affronted gaze. “You’re not the kind of guy I’m looking for, just go home.”

Oh, okay, this is exactly why Jay didn’t tell him upfront what he was or why he didn’t get a photo. This was what he was afraid of. Then again, he isn’t much better for looking at this guy and thinking he doesn’t much resemble someone who’s dealing with the perils of lycanthropy. Just a bit of a grumpy loser. So maybe neither of them exactly retained that all important lesson taught at preschool that books shouldn’t be judged by their covers.

“Alright, I get it, I’m just a rat off the street,” Jay begins, dropping his bag in the hopes of looking like he belonged here. “But you saw my message. I said I’d show you what I could do. Now if you’ll wait a--”

Tim’s up and shoving him by the shoulders before he can so much as catch up on his thoughts. No apologies this time, no assurances that he’ll pay him back. For fuck’s sake, he came here after years of searching, wanting for something that seemed impossibly out of reach and here, this asshole is shoving him out because he doesn’t have the cleanest set of clothes on and his ribs are poking through his shirt, no, no, /fuck this/.

“What the hell!”

Jay doesn’t consciously catch himself doing it, but he feels no need to call off the vines that come bursting into the open doorway. They crash against Tim’s form and dart past Jay so that they may wind around him, pinning him to the floors. He struggles and cries out in fear, eyes younger and wider than ever as he claws at them. His efforts prove futile once the vines have snaked around him completely, python like. Jay has to keep from laughing at the sight of him, utterly cartoon-like. All he needs is a train track beneath him and he’d be a helpless woman tied to the rails in a western parody.

“Now you listen to me,” Jay utters, the power filling his lungs. He breathes it deeply and steps forward to balance a foot on Tim’s chest, not to cut off his air but definitely not to help it along either. “Thirty dollars to me could have been a week of shelter. Maybe food if I wasn’t in the mood for petals or dew. You telling me to go home without really knowing if you’re going to give me back the money for sure is a fucking no-go.”

“I’d have given you the money!” Tim gasps out. His legs kick out and the vines curl around his ankles as well, successfully immobilizing him. “I d-don’t go back on my promises!”

“What’s more!” Jay interrupts him, voice sharp. “Is that you turned me away because I wasn’t a huge beefhead! You didn’t count on this, did you?”

“N-no,” Tim squeaks while a spiky tendril threatens to lace itself about his throat. “Not at all. Honestly.”

“Thought so,” Jay huffs. With a wave of his hand, he calls off the vines, allowing them to hover about ominously. Tim sits up, breathing heavily and keeping his eyes on the wriggling and newly sentient limbs. Jay looks to them as well, pride stoking the fire in his chest. “…I don’t know if you agree but I personally think I’ve proven myself more than capable of handling things.”

That wipes the fear from Tim’s face and leaves his jaw dropped. Fascination replaces suspicion as he slowly climbs to his feet, frowning at the vines still but he lets himself touch them, running his fingers along the leaves sprouting out at random spots. 

“Well,” Tim mumbles with a pinched face. “…you’re not wrong.”

Jay’s arms fold across his chest and he stands firm, waiting for a proper answer from Tim that is more along the lines of ‘yes, you’re more than worthy of my attention, sorry for being a complete asshat’.

While he doesn’t get that, he does receive a sheepishly apologetic bow of the head and an invitation to ‘maybe sit down so we can talk’.

Not what he wanted, but he’ll settle for it. He’ll take anything that might resemble cooperation at this point. Still, he smiles perhaps too widely and takes his victory in stride, folding the vines up so that they can provide him with a seat and a constant reminder that he’s not to be looked down upon.

“That’s what I thought,” Jay purrs from his hovering perch, reveling in Tim’s nervous silence. 

\--

Once they’re both actually calm, figuring out what’s going on is easy-- Jay even directs his vines to return to the outside world, apparently certain he’s made his point.

That doesn’t mean Tim is eager to trust him. Desperate as he is, he isn’t stupid enough to think it’s anywhere near reasonable to place his conviction in a stranger straight away, especially one that’s willing to tie him up in his own secondhand home. 

“You’re gonna have to be patient with me,” Tim says, massaging his wrists to ease the ache left behind by Jay’s restraints. Tiny cuts that were created by the thorns in the vines decorate his tan skin, blending in with his arm hair. They aren’t as red as before, though-- he’s healing fast. Not a good sign. “I’m… actually mid transformation right now, if I’ve got my calendar right.”

Jay raises his eyebrows, leaning back on his hands from where he sits on the dusty floor. Tim has to wince; he doesn’t have any chairs around this one room home. Considering it’s where he goes to lose control of his mind and body, he never expected to have any guests over. What’s the point of going and chopping down a couple more trees for a chair he’d never use? 

“You don’t look very wolf-like,” Jay points out the obvious. Tim blows out his breath through his nose. 

“No, not right now,” he confirms. His insides are aching now, like he’s just been to the gym and is recovering from a sweaty workout. “But I can feel it in me. I don’t usually have so much muscle here, and I’m not as, uh, hairy.” He displays his forearms for emphasis.

His guest comes forward on all fours to take a closer look, reaching to lightly trace his fingertips over the thick hairs. Tim can’t help but flinch. 

“…kind of impressive,” he admits before sitting back on his haunches. He taps his fingers to his knees thoughtfully, looking Tim up and down, not with doubt but fascination. Similar to how Tim reacted toward the vines when they weren’t behaving as violently. “But I’m pretty curious about something here. You said you’ve been, uh, wolfing out for about a year now, and only just now you’re deciding to get somebody to keep an eye on you while you’re doing that.”

“Why now?” Jay asks finally. 

Tim's chest tightens. Werewolves aren’t known in lore for their extraordinary self control, are they? He bows his head, feeling the shameful heat trickling up to his face and leaving his brain steaming.

“I always figured that there couldn’t be anybody strong enough to handle me,” he shrugs, coming to rest his elbows on his knees. He eyes the gashes he carved out in the wooden walls, resembling smiles, like his own house is fucking laughing at him and his weak bendable will. “I hated the idea of somebody else getting hurt because of me. But something kind of jarring happened last time I transformed and I thought I ought to do something about it.”

“What happened, if I may ask?” Jay pushes. He’s leaning forward now, resembling a child sitting with its parent during storytime. Tim would roll his eyes if he wasn’t expecting the question-- he’d just hoped it wouldn’t be asked. Maybe his sense of morality would’ve survived through the day unscathed. 

“I come out here, to this shack, when I know I’m about to change over. I built it myself and I rebuild whatever I wreck as soon as I can. But it didn’t matter how strong I made the walls last time. When I woke up, I…”

He pauses, a shiver clawing up his spine as the memory floats past his mind’s eye. Wrapped in the chill of the morning air, unclothed and sore to the bone, he lay there, and when he lifted his head, he saw them.

“I was near town and in the yard of a family with three kids. Their flowerbed wasn’t a flowerbed anymore, more like a wreckage site. They didn’t see me, they didn’t seem scared or anything, but I was close. I was too fucking close and I refuse to give myself the chance to get any closer.”

Those kids were young, too, shrieking and clinging to their parents’ ankles. Both mothers had stooped over to scoop them up, asking what’s gotten into them, and each child looked back at Tim, dark eyes round with curiosity.

His stomach tosses at the question of whether they caught sight of him mere hours before.

Jay isn’t looking at him. It’s tempting to shoo him away now, if he’s too disgusted to meet his gaze. If he can’t handle that, then he won’t be able to face the actual beast, once it comes forth. 

But he does eventually lift his head, and his eyes are soft, like he might feel /bad/ for him or something. The last time somebody looked at him like that, he was being told he’d never recover from these bites, that the disease seeping about his bloodstream was lethal and who knew how long he’d have left.

(Too long. He’s stronger than ever and it can only get worse.)

“What if I hadn’t showed up?” Jay asks him, speaking quietly. There are no ears in these walls, but Tim finds he wants to whisper back to him. He shakes his head, heart juddering in his chest.

“I don’t know. I wish I could say I had a backup plan, but I didn’t.”

Horror breaks over Jay’s face, paling him into a color Tim didn’t think existed. He hides his shame in his hands, scrubbing his calloused palms into his face.

“…I-- y’know what, it doesn’t matter,” Jay utters from beyond the safety of his hands. Tim dares to peer between his fingers, watching as Jay rises from the ground and dusts off his knees. “I’m here, aren’t I? It’s just a matter of waiting now.”

Tim forces a halfhearted nod, sitting up straighter on his bed. His eyes pass over Jay’s scrawny form again, taking in the bones that are pushing through his ratty and ill-fitting clothing. Instinct kicks in again, prompting his gut to twist into a nervous shape, but all he needs to do is flex his arm and feel the burn in his wrist to remember that looks aren’t everything.

“So the vines, is that all you can do?” Tim asks, hoping to get down to business. Jay looks down at his feet, kicking lightly at the dusty floors as he does.

“Honestly? I don’t know the extent of my powers. But I do know I can do this.”

Those long fingers raise up and come to rest on Tim’s elbow, and, funny, he has no idea why he ever doubted this guy, he’s capable. Who knows what he’s got up his sleeve for the nights to come? Not fair of him to go thinking he’s without his skills, what with him being a thin dirty rat from the unkempt and louder parts of town. 

But, no, these thoughts are not his own, but, but he’s agreeing with them anyway. He blinks, spots rushing to take over his vision, and when he can see again, Jay is smiling at him, knowingly. 

“You know, maybe you don’t have to perform for me or whatever, I think you’ll do just fine,” Tim says, brushing the matter off with a shrug. Jay’s smile stretches tighter across his face. “…what?”

“You didn’t think that about a moment ago.”

Tim opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t find the words he wants to say. He just knows Jay is right and that he wasn’t as eager to let him into his home earlier. Looking down at the fingers that are lingering upon his arm, he sees that they are now surrounded by a sky blue glow, glimmering in such a manner that Jay’s skin resembles crystal.

His lips twitch into a smile similar to Jay’s. Lifting his opposite arm, he takes that crystal hand in his and gives it a firm shake.

“I think we’ve got a deal.”

And for the first time in months, Tim relaxes, despite the itch, the stretch beneath his skin. He’s in good hands, and he knows he isn’t thinking that due to Jay’s influence-- he believes it, through and through.

He’s in good, blue, crystal-like hands.


	3. The Orb Above Us Laughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay stretches the rules in the hopes of being able to better help his new friend. Tim isn't too pleased... not that he would be in a good mood as it was with the full moon hovering over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for references to attempted self harm.

A week passes. 

Jay doesn’t ask where Tim came from or how he came to be the scariest and hairiest thing this side of Alabama since the rifle-obsessed Beard Brigade was formed.

It doesn’t sound polite. Tim was kind enough to keep from laughing at his use of the word ‘fairy’ when he asked Jay what exactly he was earlier. He shrugged and nodded a farewell to Jay before taking a step back and shutting the cabin door on him. Nothing more. 

So Jay ought to show him the same manners. He’s aware of how lycanthropy spreads in fiction; he has a feeling the painful and bloody details do not differ much from what takes place in real life. The little fairy /aches/ to know the origins, but all the same, it isn’t important. His own origins aren’t necessary to knowing him when all he did was fall out of the folds of a morning glory and nearly break his newly formed legs. It adds more questions to the stack that’s already leaning upon him…

He’s not important, he’s not the one in need of protection. 

Jay may or may not have been keeping an eye on the wolf for the week that he was told to head home and prepare for the next full moon. Which is to say he most definitely was and he camped out in the man’s backyard the entire time without him being aware of it. 

Normally Jay tries his best not to use his powers to gain an upper advantage over humans. Humans, for the most part, suck ass-- at least in his oh so humble opinion. Despite that, it doesn’t feel fair to do that, regardless of where society may have thrown him in terms of class and money. He’s not about to rob anybody by convincing them that somehow he needs their money more than they do, not when he can literally live off of raindrops.

This time, he can make an exception. 

He’s not hurting Tim by shrinking down to the size of a quarter each passing evening and fluttering up to the cabin walls to peer between the logs. This feels necessary… and Jay didn’t exactly have much else to do while he waited around for Monday. He /could/ have flown back to the city after Tim saw him out but that meant locating a nice park to settle down in for bedtime. Jay won’t make the mistake of curling up on a grass blade in front of any given house-- turns out Tuscaloosa citizens have a fetish or something for keeping their lawns well mowed. 

Watching Tim though is for a definite purpose. Jay wanted to know, what did change mean for him physically, mentally? 

It was clear from the moment they met that growth was a big part of it. Not just growth of hair, either; the morning after meeting Tim, Jay caught him shrugging out of his shirt, thus revealing broad shoulders that were not that wide a couple hours ago. He packed on weight fast as well. Unable to keep up with his expanding form, Jay witnessed him angrily throwing out a pair of jeans he split while sleeping. It’s nothing to do with his appetite or diet; it couldn’t be when he’s living off of berries and granola bars. 

By Sunday evening he was tall enough to surpass Jay in height, not by much but it did give Jay a moment of pause where he questioned if his magic could handle him. There does come a point where he can’t call upon any more plants to help him hold the beast down, he has to focus on every single creature he summons and he can’t take more than ten or fifteen before his skull breaks beneath the pressure of a piercing headache. 

What interests Jay more is Tim’s emotional state.

He isn't a happy man. 

This much is obvious from taking a single look at him; Jay can't remember if he ever once smiled of his own volition during those nights of observation. He spends his nights staring away into a place that Jay can’t see, a place that must exist inside only Tim’s mind. Books are read, the cabin is wandered through, and then the rest of the day is spent performing the thousand mile gaze.

Surely nobody dealing with their body changing this quickly actually enjoys it. Bones are breaking only to reattach to each other the next second, skin is stretching and muscles are expanding at an alarming rate. Puberty is an infinitely more gradual process and no one would ever say that it was a fun one. 

This goes beyond the turmoil of transformation, though. This, Jay has no idea what it stems from- perhaps a lack of friends? Tim fails to make use of his cell phone, leaves it to lose charge out on his bed. His laptop suffers the same fate, and Jay knows it isn't due to shoddy connection. For a cabin in the middle of the forest, the reception isn’t as awful as it could be. 

But Jay’s gut tells him that while Tim’s misery may be influenced by an absence of companions, it’s not the core of the problem.

He can’t put his finger on the issue and he won’t be able to unless he admits to Tim that he was watching, and that’s out of the question. He couldn’t tell him about his observations without affecting Tim’s behavior. Maybe he could have convinced Tim to let him watch with permission, but he would have calculated his every move and Jay wouldn’t have received an accurate reading. 

And suddenly, as these thoughts swirl in a violent whirlpool that refuses to quiet, Jay lays awake with his blue eyes risen to the stars, and he has to admit that he’s fascinated. Fascinated, curious, and concerned, about this strange old lug living out here he just met. He tosses and turns on the bendy blade of grass he’s chosen as his bed for the evening. These whispering trees towering above him fail to calm him with their soft words.

He’s been here for all of a week and he’s deep.

Tomorrow night will be an evening to remember forever.

\--

Tim knows he isn’t alone.

He isn’t stupid. The sensation of being watched is a powerful one and it’s driving into him like waves crashing against the shore. That on top of the faint blue glow he has spotted behind the house each night… Jay isn’t gone.

But Tim can’t bring himself to give a damn. Hell, it’s likely better this way, it keeps him from pulling any shenanigans like he usually does. His teeth ache the worst the evening and morning before the full moon and he spent a good hour before passing out resisting the persistent urge to gnaw away at his arm. Sinking his growing incisors into the delicate meat of his forearm does not soothe the pain but it keeps him focused on the marks left behind.

Looking at them means not thinking about the isolation out here, the isolation of being the only wolfish creature he knows, the fucking isolation from anyone who he’d end up getting close to and then ruin both his and their lives when the full moon comes along.

The scars of previous incidents itch horribly today from the stretching of his flesh, like they’re mocking him when they know he can’t do shit about it lest he tear his skin off completely. His nails are jagged and disgusting, clicking against any and all wooden surfaces. 

He’s at his ugliest, his most disgusting, the worst a human being could be. There aren’t any mirrors in this cabin for fear of triggering an urge that calls for an action more permanent than a harsh bite or scratch. His hair is brushing his shoulders and his body bulges in odd places, at his forearms and his stomach. The top of his lip is bloody, rubbing against the tips of his pointed incisors. 

If he could, he’d sleep through this last morning. It isn’t because he has too much bottled up energy; he could sleep for days if he wasn’t trapped in his own brain and worrying, worrying that tonight will be the night he will do it, someone will be missing by the end of the week and it’ll be all his fault.

This happens every time, and when he wakes up covered in dirt and whatever clothes he has left hanging as torn shreds upon his body, he barely makes it home in time to collapse. Four days without sleep is the perfect ingredient for making most employers hate him.

They aren’t the only ones filled with hatred at those circumstances, though. Tim is boiling inside and he’d melt and let himself weep with exhaustion, anger, desperation-- if he wasn’t waiting up on Jay. 

The sun is dipping down now, the streaks of orange squeezing through cracks in the walls. He spotted the telltale orb of aqua in the wall behind him an hour or so earlier, so Jay has to be around, biding his time. 

And, finally, a distraction in the form of his footsteps, light against the grass but this evening, he might as well be stomping-- the world is utterly still and silent, waiting on him to fill it with noise and chaos. The strange man raps his knuckles against the door, as though that’s really necessary. Bones creak and protest when he rises from his springy mattress, and the door creaks louder when he fights it into opening.

Jay peers around at him, past where Tim has brought the door to a stop-- not all the way open. The pale man’s face flushes a faded violet; he can already tell he’s in trouble for something. 

“So, you’re polite enough to knock when you come to the door,” Tim begins when Jay fails to greet him, apparently too busy staring at him bug-eyed and nervous. “Have you decided not to stalk me anymore either? Because that’d fall under the definition of being polite, respecting people’s privacy and all.”

Those huge eyes manage to get bigger, if possible. Jay would look cartoonish if he didn’t look so damn pathetic, actually shrinking down to a smaller size that’s more befitting of a teenager’s. It’s difficult to discern whether this is genuine fright or if he’s putting on a front to make Tim feel bad, but either way it’s not working.

“I did it to try to get a better feel for what I had to do to protect you,” Jay tries to excuse himself, but Tim’s not having it… or, he wouldn’t, if he had the energy to push his anger onto Jay. It’s all reserved for himself and if he tries to conjure up any more, he might fucking explode. Tim puts his hands up, sighing weakly and returning to his mattress. Jay hangs around the door’s threshold, still hesitating. “I promise, I’ll never do it again, I--”

Tim raises his hand again, stopping Jay mid-breath. 

“Whatever. As long as you got the info you needed and you actually never do it again. And I’ll know if you go back on that promise,” Tim warns, rolling his head to eye the flustered man closely. “You’re shit at keeping a low profile. I could see you through my wall.”

Jay’s face falls, and that in itself is almost enough to make the furious beast in Tim’s chest purr with satisfaction. Almost. He’ll have to remember this for future nights together.

That is, if there is going to be a future for the two of them. His breath comes out in a shuddery exhale. 

This is it. This will be the night that tells him if he’s made the right move in breaking his own vows and dragging somebody else into this hairy mess. Someone with powers that he could never hope to fully comprehend, yes, but a someone that is small, with skin, blood, smells like food to any hungering beast’s quivering nose…

He licks his lips and they remain dry.

“I hope you’re better at keeping things under control around here than you are at sneaking around,” Tim says, heaving in as deep a breath as his pained ribs will allow. They could be expanding inside of him right now, permitting him a barrel chest-- all the better for strength and tackling down any poor animal, any /human/ in his way. 

Jay lurks around, closed in on himself. He couldn’t look any less ready for what’s to come. His fingers are flexing, trembling. Tim can hear foliage shifting outside, leaves rustling about in the windless dusk.

“I thought you’d decided I was the best person for the job,” the standing man says in a low voice, like he’s uncertain whether Tim’s memory is to be trusted. 

He’s right to be unsure but it isn’t fair to compare Tim’s current mental state to the one he was occupying a week ago. This Tim wants to die, or maybe sleep until this is over with. He could give a fuck about Jay right now. 

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” Tim manages before he gestures weakly toward the door. The rustling from outside is louder now; it seems the vines are eager to meet him again. “You might as well hold me down now. Just in case.”

Jay immediately approaches the door, head held down, complying to Tim’s words without hesitance. 

The last thing he sees is the man’s retreating back and the green tendrils that stretch around his doorway, curling in and darting toward him.

After that, he can’t see beyond the white curtain that falls in front of his eyes. It brings a piercing pain with it, stabbing into a place inside his skull that he didn’t know existed. A scream wrenches from his throat, tasting of wet copper.

To his ears, it sounds like a wolf howling in the distance.

He clamps onto his sheets. If he clings to this reality with enough strength he might be able to resist the shine of the full moon that’s sprawling onto the floor.

He can’t possibly hang on tight enough. 

\--

The high pitched screech that bursts through the air is sharp and fit to destroy Jay’s eardrums. He slaps his hands over his ears-- and even his vines rear back, startled, responding to his pumping blood. 

When he brings himself to turn and face what has become of Tim, he sees him convulsing upon his mattress, head tossed back and allowing the bones in his throat to jut against his skin. His nails are extending, coming to points that tear lines into the sheets he hangs onto with a death grip. Shaggy hair grows at a rapid rate from his head, his arms, and especially his now exposed torso. His shirt didn’t stand a chance against his blown up chest and arms. 

Jay tries to tear his eyes from the sight of the trembling and screaming man. He’s fucking frozen though, his own limbs shaking-- and he shakes harder when Tim falls silent, his fuzzy face at rest.

He stares and ponders in the stillness. The man’s chest isn’t rising and falling. It can’t be possible for him to have died in the transformation process when he’s undergone it before. Right?

…Right?

There is one way to find out but that requires being close, within reach of the man’s claws and shining teeth. Teeth that jut over Tim’s lower lip, forcing one’s gaze to them and demanding nervous attention, pointing and glinting in the low light of the night…

Jay glances back at his green comrades. They shiver above and around him, reminding him that he isn’t alone. He takes in a preparing breath, counts in his head to ten, and takes a step toward Tim’s prone form. 

He doesn’t respond to the sound of Jay’s feet upon the floor, nor does he appear to notice that there is a fairy touching his throat, pressing into the flesh with gentle fingers. Where is it that humans keep those blood tubes of theirs? Pulse, pulse, where’s-- there, he feels a flutter pressing back against his touch. 

Thank god there’s a flutter at all, albeit a very weak one. He dares to press harder, begging Tim’s pulse to be stronger. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jay catches a quick glimpse of the man’s chest rising. 

His eyes flit up to Tim’s face, and there he sees open eyes, no longer the calm brown hue they were moments ago but now a sickly yellow, bright as the moon that altered them.

He has a split second to react, and he can’t get himself to move fast enough-- Jay stumbles back, mentally attempts to beckon his vines, but he can’t think under pressure. Claws are darting toward his own vulnerable throat, and they wrap around his neck in a chokehold and, fuck, he’s on his back, a great weight is upon his chest and teeth snap away at his face, hungry for flesh, knee in his stomach, no, no, no--

Tim unleashes a series of outraged barks as green limbs dart toward him and simultaneously shove him back. A pair wrap around each of his arms, tugging them back and away from Jay’s neck. His claws create the most harrowing noise, scratching along the wooden floor planks, but better that than suffocating. Jay sucks in several shallow breaths, scrambling to his feet and praying for the assistance of ten, twenty more vines, there have to be about forty in here now, he can handle more, he has to.

Those dangerous teeth clamp around the thickest of vines, breaking it in half and, shit, Jay feels it in his arm, tugs a pained scream from his lungs. He summons a replacement, attempting to have it loop around Tim’s head so that it might act as a muzzle. This one zips in and manages to pull off the task, much to Jay’s shock as Tim is biting at anything within reach. 

The beast’s limbs are constricted, held back by vines that Jay has lost count of, but his buzzing brain and rushing thoughts can’t keep up with them-- they’re dropping, one by one, and he breaks through them when they go limp. Jay stumbles back, trying to place more distance between himself and Tim, but the beast is quick-- Jay sees him charging, sees those black jagged claws diving for him, and he puts his hands up. 

Time seems to freeze in place. Coarse fur scrapes against Jay’s open palms, hot breath panting against his face, no teeth, no blood… he opens his eyes, not realizing he had closed them in his certainty that death was on its swift way. He tilts his head back.

Looking down at him are those yellow eyes that he saw seconds ago, this time much softer, almost apologetic. They flick up and down, taking in Jay’s small form, like this is Tim’s first time seeing Jay. The fairy shrinks away, keeping his hands where they are in case Tim changes his mind about not hurting him, but, it’s clear to Jay what he accidentally did.

He mentally manipulated him into not wanting to hurt anything around him. Those once hated vines are snaking around him, and all Tim does is sniff at them with curiosity. Yellow eyes run over Jay once again, and they remain inquisitive, wondering what he is, who he is, why he is here. 

Somehow Jay turned his own thoughts of ‘please don’t hurt me’ and shoved them into Tim’s head, and now they belong to him. 

Jay’s shoulders sag in relief, and he unleashes the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. This is exactly why Tim wanted him here. Even Jay had been uncertain if he was capable of breaking through to a werewolf’s brain, but clearly, going by the creature that is now meek as a puppy before him, he is. 

“…hey,” Jay tries, lifting his hand away from Tim’s chest, one remaining to keep him at arm’s length. The wolf glances down at the raising hand, keeping still but maintaining a vigilant watch on him. The hair on Tim’s head is as rough as the fur upon his chest. Tim’s eyelids lower in contentment, closing altogether when Jay finds a sweet spot behind his ear. 

One by one, he calls the vines off, ordering them back to the outside world. Tim stays where he is, paying attention to his bruising wrist instead of his newfound freedom. He gives it a weak lick and makes a low whining sound that tugs at something in Jay’s chest.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and to his surprise, he receives a nod. How much human is left in this beast? He takes Tim’s hand between his own and carefully rolls his wrist, pressing his fingers into the muscles and massaging them. Once again, the beast’s eyelids threaten to slip shut. “I’m sorry. I had to. You were gonna hurt me if I didn’t hold you back.”

Jay looks the wolf in the eye, sees him looking back and what’s more, sees an unspoken apology there. The tense muscles that riddled Jay’s form seconds before calm at last. Silence falls between him and the beast, the fairy focusing on soothing the pains that he caused. 

What breaks that silence is a gurgling rumble that gives Jay pause. He forgets to massage Tim’s wrist, his attention falling to the hand that Tim brings to rest on his belly. 

“…do you want to find something to eat?” 

When Tim nods again, a million ridiculous options pass through Jay’s mind at once-- he has to shake his head and draw the line at buying those fake bacon treats. There are options, all of them too much trouble, but Jay swallows his nerves at the prospect of allowing Tim to hunt. If he stays close, surely the only victims will be a rabbit or two. 

“Alright. We’ll find something.”

This is why he’s here: keep it under control, and if feeding Tim is part of that, then he’ll do it.

He can only hope that he can keep up with Tim, because the moment he makes for the door, Tim is shoving past him on all fours, a hungry growl deep in his throat. As though it notices Jay’s hesitance, one last living vine ducks in and hovers at his side. 

“I’ve got this,” Jay assures it before batting it away and darting after Tim’s retreating form.

He sounds more confident than he really feels.


	4. Hired Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beast feeds, and the fairy tends to him, pondering all the while whether 'beast' is the right word to use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for animal death (specifically being hunted by another animal).

On and on the pair of impossible creatures go. They sidestep the bulky trunks of trees that dare to stray into their path, they duck beneath the low reaching branches, they spook away the tiny mammals with their rising voices.

For what feels like the shortest amount of time, Jay is able to keep up with Tim. He quickly discovered he has no chance of that while walking on his own two feet, so he glides along in the air instead, wings cutting through the blustering wind. Tim is a swift dark blur beneath the treetops, only visible when he slows to sniff about for sustenance. Jay has to rely on his ears to track him otherwise. 

The creature crashes around the forest, a chaotic bundle of energy that Jay is afraid to leave on its own. His head pulses at his attempts to keep his focus on Tim, providing a mental leash that is likely the only thing keeping Tim from climbing the nearest tree and lunging at him. This sea of blue-gone-green and all that resides within its waves demands his attention as well though and, no, no, Tim, /Tim/, he has to steer him, not towards the lights of human life that are dotted around the edges of the woods…

There. The connection jerks Jay’s head forward and the idea to move toward the west and away from the town folk is no longer his. Tim slows his four-footed pace and skids to a stop… then proceeds to take off at a far more erratic dash. 

Fuck. Not acceptable, no. Jay huffs and descends, after tossing a second idea at Tim’s mind and coaxing him to pause. Gradually lowering his feet to the soil, Jay regains his balance and tucks his wings beneath his jacket, the glass-like tips jutting out at the hem. 

“You only have two settings; stroll and run like a bat out of hell. Am I right?” Jay asks of the wolf, narrowing his eyes. A tongue lolls out of Tim’s mouth and he pulls up the corners of his lips into a doggish grin. Tim’s response is a silent one but it tells Jay exactly what he figured; Tim doesn’t care about a damn thing he just said. He has one thing on his mind and one thing only: food.

Shaking his head, Jay allows himself to pace around his furry companion, hands behind his back. He looks the beast up and down, from his twitching muscled legs to the rapid heaving of his chest. Being out of breath, Jay would expect Tim to be exhausted from running, but the wolf is glancing from side to side, arms shaking as though he could take off any second. 

“You would take my arm out of its socket if I even tried to put a real leash on you, wouldn’t you?” Jay asks, more of a hypothetical and sarcastic question than anything, but Tim supplies him with a barking response anyway. 

Alright, one solution does come to mind, a simple but ridiculous one that Jay hadn’t wanted to consider, but… if he did ‘convince’ Tim to slow up, he would have to concentrate and Jay is getting a headache as it is. He rubs at his temples, ignoring the stupid dog smile he’s receiving. This would be easier than having to fight to keep up with him, right? And, and shit, what does he have to lose?

Jay takes those first few tentative steps towards Tim, closing the distance when he receives no suspicious glance. The beast’s body continues to shake, almost /vibrate/ with hot energy. His heat is palpable and rising off of him even while Jay’s fingers hesitate over his scruff. 

Tim lets out a shuddery huff and shifts into a straighter position so he’s easier to settle upon. If Jay wasn’t certain he was unconsciously twisting his will to allow a near-stranger on his back, he’d be shocked. One leg rests at either side, calves snug against Tim’s ribcage.

Jay hopes that the part of Tim that latches onto the vague leftover memories of his activities as an otherworldly beast conveniently looks this portion of the night over. Not very many people would be happy to learn that they were being used as a horse of sorts while they weren’t entirely within their mind.

“Alright,” the fairy sighs, stroking the wolf’s head as a means of praise. He takes hold of Tim’s shoulders, closes his eyes, and hangs on tight. “Find food.”

What Jay expects is to nearly be bucked off and sent toppling back to the forest floor he loves and calls home. Instead… it’s a smooth ride, like Tim is used to bearing the burden of human weight on his back while hunting. The shift of bones and muscle against Jay’s legs is still there, of course. Nothing compared to a relaxed smooth ride in a car, but it’s not clinging to Tim’s fur for dear fucking life.

The forest rushes by Jay’s head, too fast for him to keep up with, to take in. A chill seeps into his bones and freezes his hands. His fingers can’t move, and his eyes are watering, the pain forcing him to close his eyes. Leaning forward, he buries his face in the top of Tim’s head, heartbeat reaching a rate that would likely be dangerous for any human but for a fairy… it’s still unpleasant, no, but he isn’t dying of cardiac arrest either.

“Tim, please,” he utters, the words jolted from his chest, shoved out by the sudden force that bounces him around on Tim’s back. He clenches his fists upon Tim’s shoulders and pleads into his hair, please, /slow the fuck down/. 

And by some miracle or lucky roll of the dice, Tim does skid to a stop, and they don’t move for a long enough period that Jay dares to lift his head and sit up. He looks beyond the shadows that Tim has hunkered down in, squints at the shifting black blotches at the base of the tree that stands across from their chosen hiding spot. Whatever those tiny creatures are, they’re eating up the fallen autumn leaves, crunchy and rotten. 

Tim wants them. Jay doesn’t have to guess at that; the ravenous growls that escape his clenched teeth rattle up the beast’s body and shake through Jay’s palms. He lifts his left leg, ready to let Tim have at it-- 

His skull cracks against the same tree he was looking at seconds before. The mixture of the two creatures moving, Jay attempting to rise and Tim diving in for the kill, somehow it sent Jay flying and now he’s on his back, cradling his head and rocking to and fro. Stars twinkle in front of his vision, threatening to steal away his sight and what use will he be to Tim then, if he can’t see him thudding across this forest floor?

Ringing bells find their way into Jay’s ears. He promptly clamps his hands over them, shaking his head and praying that they’ll fall out in the chaos. These bells sound like the shrieks of dying animals, if he listens closely-- which he isn’t, he wants them out, out, out. 

And, nothing. Silence bursts into Jay’s skull and is heavier, louder than the screams and bells. 

He peels apart his eyelids, daring to peer out into the night again. 

There the beast sits on his haunches, the softer and rounder parts of him doubly so, eyes lidded and a hand lifted to his mouth. His tongue weaves between his fingers, lapping up an oozy substance that has no color in these dark corners. The sharp aroma is all Jay needs to figure out what it is, though.

“God, I was wondering when you’d drop the whole puppy routine,” Jay mutters, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into the pulsing parts of his skull. Tim perks at his words, pointed ears twitching before he lets his blood-soaked tongue loll out of his smiling mouth again. Rolling his eyes, Jay leans in and scratches under his chin, just for the sake of congratulating him on managing to catch a snack.

For whatever reason, that gets Tim to slump over onto his side, whining aloud. The scene reminds Jay of a puppy begging for belly rubs, and he tests it, scratching at the underside of his tummy.

Twitch, twitch, twitch. Tim’s left leg trembles, knocking gently against Jay’s side. 

He’s watching a freshly fed werewolf roll and delight in the chance to have his sweet spot attended to while blood dribbles down his mouth.

Not what Jay expected to be doing tonight. But it’s a damn sight better than Tim tearing apart an innocent family. 

\--

Come a sleepy dawn that rolls in on a weekday morning, it isn’t a beast that rolls over in Tim’s bed and rubs his heavy eyes with balled fists, wincing in the face of the sunlight streaming in through the open front door-- it is Tim himself. 

The mattress sinks under him, bearing no new claw marks. Checking the sole pillow he keeps shows that it is intact, not a single ounce of stuffing missing since he last laid his head on it. Sure, his blanket is halfway off of the bed and hanging onto his errant foot, but that too is as he left it, so he has no complaints.

Bones grumble in protest but he insists on sitting up and straightening his spine. Leaning back on his arms, he tilts his head this way and that, listening to the creaky crackles inside his neck. A creature is playing drums on the inside of his skull and blotting out his vision with white. No amount of blinking can beckon his sight back to him.

This is standard for him; it reminds him of waking after a night of drinking and lost time. The difference is that he recalls a good deal of what took place these previous evenings. 

This morning, he remembers everything.

Trying to attack Jay, eat him up, limb by limb. The anger seeping from his body like blood draining from a wound. Roaming the surrounding forest with him, discovering food, food, and more food… he runs his hand over his stomach, still firm, fuller than it has ever been in recent memory. 

Movement from the corner of his eye captures his attention. He whips his head up and sees Jay on his tiptoes, clutching the single broom in the cabin and using it against the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. 

“I hired you to make sure I didn’t kill anybody, not be my maid,” Tim says after a few false starts where he found his throat was too dry for proper speech. Jay glances over at him, bits of web floating gently to the floor. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve had to live here for a night or two, I wanted to make it more suitable for an actual human being or two,” Jay replies, tone devoid of rudeness in spite of the potential for it. He heads over to the open door and shakes out the broom, sending more dust and debris flying into the crisp morning air. “So, did you sleep well? You’ve been out for maybe twelve hours now.”

Tim blinks the sleep and surprise from his eyes.

“Twelve? I-- usually I’m… not myself for about three days.”

“Yep,” Jay confirms before closing the door, shutting the chill of almost-winter away. He turns to Tim with a proud smile, standing tall and wide-chested. “You and I were hunting for a whole night, we came back here which took a good while, and then you passed out. Almost three days.”

Here on his mattress, in spite of the pain that’s caked into the joints between his bones, Tim finds that he could have simply slept for an extremely long time. If it weren’t for the memories, for Jay here confirming that those memories were not dreams, he might think he had in fact lapsed into a miniature coma.

“…wow,” is all Tim can bring himself to say, and he repeats it, wow. He runs his hands through unkempt and slightly greasy hair. No blood, no chipped claws. Just hands and hair, both of it entirely his own. “Wow.”

Jay, meanwhile, stands with a fist to his hips, skinny chest puffed out. He waits, looking to Tim expectantly. It’s a good thing he wasn’t expecting to be paid, because that’s a face that demands funds that are beyond Tim’s reach. 

“So I guess I should apologize for a few things I said when you first got here,” Tim admits to the face that continues to beam smug confidence. At those words, Jay bares his teeth in a smile that’s impossible to face head on. Tim ducks his head, looking at a spot between his knees. Dusty there. Maybe he does need to clean.

“I think I gave you enough of a hard time for that already,” Jay says with a nod toward the door. The vaguest line of green glides across the gap between the door and floor, sending a small shiver up Tim’s spine. 

“But don’t worry about it,” Jay continues, putting on a much gentler tone. He puts aside the broom, tucking his hands into his jeans’ pockets once they’re free. “It was for a good cause.”

“You make it sound like a charity,” Tim snorts. He coaxes his legs into carrying his weight, taking in a deep gulp of air when his knees snap at the gradual attempt made at standing. Once he’s flat on his feet and not thinking he’s about to tip over, he crosses the small distance between himself and Jay and extends a tentative hand for him to shake. “Really. I’m grateful and I hope you didn’t think it was so much trouble that you won’t come back again.”

Jay shakes his head, the haughty smile from earlier shrinking into a casual grin. He takes the hand before him in both of his own, rubbing off a good number of sparkles onto Tim’s skin. Maybe in another lifetime where Tim didn’t have much bigger problems on his plate, he might care about the glitter. This is fine, though, he can definitely deal with some errant sparkles if it means nobody is dead because of him.

“I’ll be back if you’ll have me,” Jay assures him, giving Tim’s hand a squeeze. He doesn’t let go right away, looking down at their slightly entwined fingers. His brow furrows while he stares, as though in thought. Tim frowns, making a halfhearted effort to pull his arm back, but Jay has a firm grasp on him.

“Is there something else you need, Jay?” Tim pushes, tugging his hand away when Jay fails to let go after several silent and strained seconds. The man flinches, apparently startled, but he doesn’t shrink away in fear as he did the first night of the transformation. He straightens up and looks Tim in the face, lips pressed into a serious line.

“I just wanna know. How much of these nights do you remember?”

Alright, legitimate question to be asking, and one that Tim maybe should have answered already. It’s a tad difficult to give all the necessary information when he’s in the middle of sprouting hair and claws and teeth and all that fun stuff. He rubs a sheepish hand at the back of his neck, looking to the floor in thought. 

“Yeah, I remember most of what happened, I could pick out all the memories soon as I woke up,” Tim says, and at that, Jay recoils, gaze raising to the ceiling. Guilt tinges his cheeks violet, prompting a strange and small thing from Tim: an actual smile. “…what are you hoping I wouldn’t remember?”

“I kind of crossed my fingers that you wouldn’t recall me riding you like a horse. I couldn’t figure out a better way to keep up with you,” Jay confesses. Ah, yes, that was a particularly vivid memory: Jay may not look like much but his weight was definitely there and he has these grabby fingers, it stung quite a bit when he would pull on his hair. 

“At least you’re being honest. And, hey, no one’s dead, and it’s not like wolf me gave much of a shit, right?” Tim waves the matter off. Jay could have put him on a leash, really, and Tim’s relief would be too great for him to stop and think, hey, what the fuck. It is blush-worthy now, yes, but there’s no point in yelling at Jay for it if it kept matters under control. 

“I will say, though, I don’t remember much about the very beginning of the first night,” Tim continues, closing his eyes and straining at the block that seems to be sitting between him and the full memory. “I was pretty pissed at you and I think you were running from me…?”

“You tried to attack me,” Jay says outright. He chews at his lower lip, head bowed, as though this one failure counted against him when it truly didn’t matter in the end.

“I figured,” Tim huffs before shoving his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets-- did Jay dress him? There are tattered patches of cloth by the stove, like they were being used for kindling. Tim would laugh if he hadn’t already done that to clothing he’d wrecked in the past.

“Thing is, I have trouble… hanging onto memories that have to do with me being angry,” Tim goes on, waving a hand around for emphasis. “Like it’s me, it’s all me, just me running on emotions only which end up being doubled as it is, but when I’m really pissed off, I think I black out. So that’s why I can’t remember trying to hurt you.”

Jay appears to accept that explanation, nodding and giving him a ‘what can ya do’ sort of shrug. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door, seemingly satisfied and ready to go. 

“You’ll have to email me again next time the cycle starts, I lose track of time when I’m out in the city,” the fairy tells him. Tim nods, following instinctively and going ahead of him to open the door. Jay hovers at his side, looking to him a moment before smiling again. “…’til next time, I guess.”

Tim can’t give him anything more than another nod. Now that the time for goodbyes has come, he’s suddenly at a loss. Is this meant to be formal, since this was a business-like agreement between the two of them? 

And yet, when he sees Jay’s retreating back, there’s a sickly sensation in his chest, and the word ‘abandonment’ jumps to mind, ridiculous as it is. They could be sitting here, having breakfast, talking as /friends/ might, but both of them have their lives to get back to, don’t they? Tim, with his job and his real home back in the quiet parts of town, and Jay…

He has no idea what Jay has to return to, and he /wants/ to know. 

This creature with glassy wings that unfurl from beneath a baggy red shirt, he’s curious; what makes him go on in a world that doesn’t know he exists, and even actively denies it?

Tim can only guess as he watches Jay take off at a dash, feet kicking out behind him wildly until he gives those beautiful translucent wings a flap-- and he’s in the air, gliding away from Tim.

Standing in his own doorway staring after a near stranger, his feet are suddenly heavy, rebelling against the knowledge that he ought to go and pack up his belongings for the drive home.

Leaving the cabin has never been quite so hard.


	5. Sneaky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both beasts are longing for something that can only be found back at the cabin.   
> Both beasts are unwilling to share the actual reasons for wanting to be back at the cabin.  
> Both beasts are assholes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for references to hospitals and definite classism on a minor character's part.

Steely unfeeling shelves that could come falling down any moment, five little tables dotted around this one square room, a single desk at the center for the librarian… Sitting around in the library again, sneaking chips from behind the world’s largest dictionary, Jay could say he was right at home. Yes, home, where he’s glared down by the cranky librarians and he shares space with all the information in the world. Plus dusty paperbacks depicting swooning blondes in the arms of shirtless beefy hunks. 

Returning to this place took an ironclad will and an extraordinary amount of self control-- and maybe that goes to show how much has changed in a matter of three days. He would rather have nothing than this fucking dump. No more evil eyes peering over wire glasses, no more being kicked out at closing time, no more surprise bugs hiding in the books eating away at the glue.

December is coming on heavy, though. Alabama, being in the south, is better known for its scorching summers. But this area can get cold at night, chilling human beings and scaring them into clusters for warmth. What they think of as cold, Jay perceives as deathly fucking freezing. 

Fairies are not built for winter weather, or, at least, he is not. He has to soak up the sunlight, lounging on the concrete outside like a lizard, and when night hits, he hides beneath bundles of rags and oversized jackets. Even then, the wind tunnels in past the layers and finds his skin, sinking its teeth in and drawing out pained gasps from his lungs.

Sitting on a sinking couch beneath this reading room’s single heating vent, Jay has to quietly curse his thin bones and thinner skin. He runs his palm down his front, acknowledges the ribs pushing out of his flesh from the inside. No amount of junk food could soften his stomach into providing proper insulation. He’s tried and tried, but if he works the way that the anatomy books have described to him, then his metabolism is somewhere beyond human comprehension.

These chips that he pocketed from that shady stall outside aren’t going to tide him over long. Pretty soon he’ll have to step back outside and go searching for a flower to munch on. That is, if he can locate a single flower that managed to survive last night’s freeze. 

At Tim’s cabin, there were always flowers dotted around his home, from dandelions to daisies to sunflowers-- if he dares to wander out far enough. No matter what time he woke up, there was still dew to sip on and lap up. Out here, he can’t seem to get to the local front lawns fast enough. Lawnmowers are the devil’s spawn, Jay is totally convinced of it.

Returning to Tim’s cabin two weeks before his transformation begins, though, that’s out of the question. It’s not like Tim went out there to make friendly with any neighbors he might find. It’s his spot, his lonely little area, where he goes to suffer. Alone. 

Which sounds completely and utterly unhealthy but who is Jay to judge? Tim is an adult human being, he can make his own decisions about how he deals with his hard times. 

Except, maybe he could go back, just find a spot that’s out of Tim’s line of sight? His supposed backyard leads into the deeper woods, where the brush tangles up with the tree branches and is as tall as the trees themselves. Tim would never see him back there. And besides, he wouldn’t show up until a little later, and he’d be expecting Jay to arrive not too long after…

Jay throws giving a shit to the wind and crumples up the miniature bag of chips, causing several patrons to flinch and peer up from their homework and books. The same librarian he’s gotten to know oh so well from all his visits over this year sighs from her desk, not too far behind his back. He turns around and puts on a smile for her, showing every one of his teeth.

“Got a trash can back there?” he asks, nodding to the rickety desk. He’s shocked all her bits and bobs and her computer can sit on it without causing the wooden legs to buckle. 

“Why don’t you hang on to your trash? Surely you could stuff your coats with it,” she shoots back, eyeing his bulky blue jacket. How sweet. He rolls his eyes and turns away, shoving the packet inside of his coat.

“Say all the nasty stuff you want, at least I’m making something of myself helping my friends out,” Jay says as calm as he possibly can. His throat aches from the effort as he stands up, the couch cushions fighting him the whole way. 

“I do make something of myself,” she replies, sweet as can be. He allows himself a glance over his shoulder at her, sees she’s typing away at the computer, the screen reflected in her dusty glasses. “I’m in here, helping spread knowledge. Better that than selling drugs out on the street or getting people’s libraries dirty.”

Shaking his head, he lifts a hand from his pockets and looks at the pile of glimmering sparkles there, scraped off of his skin from his constant grabbing for chips.

Pursing his lips, he blows, letting it snow down onto the tiny table he took up residence at.

 

“You have a good day now,” he coos, skipping toward the steps leading out of the building. Outside, toward Rosswood Park, where all the food, all the warmth, all the homey feelings in the world are hidden.

Maybe this will actually be the last time he puts this library behind him.

\--

The moon is hanging wide and bright in the bruise-purple sky when Jay first reaches the edge of Rosswood Park’s forest. It guides him, providing him with light when nothing else will, not even the fireflies that have fled to the warmer, safer parts of the state.

Jay takes care not to disturb the slumbering birds. He descends to the forest floor, ducking out of the way of branches and letting his feet gently meet the ground. 

A rainstorm passed through the town the other day, and it must have torn through the forest as well. Slick mud is beneath his bare feet, cold and slippery. He takes his time, every step a calculated one. Tim’s cabin stands ahead of him, tall and bulky. It breaks past the brush, making it impossible to miss with its faded yellows against the dark greens. 

Mud finally solidifies into something traversable; lively green grass and firm dirt provides a nice spot for him to wipe his feet clean. As he balances on his left foot and wipes the sole of the other clean with a stray fallen leaf, he happens to look up, and, strange, how the walls of Tim’s cabin seem to glow. Like there are candles lit on the inside. Except they can’t be, because Tim wouldn’t leave and risk a forest fire in the meantime.

Then again, Jay never noticed a locking mechanism on the cabin door. That light could be coming from anybody, from a couple of teenagers looking for shelter so that they may rebel against their parents’ wishes in peace.

Or worse. Hunters.

Crossing his fingers for the best, Jay lets his bones shrink, small as the dead insects that litter the forest floor. Mere seconds later, he’s capable of fitting into any human hand, tall as the average adult’s thumb. 

He keeps low to the ground, refusing to make the same mistake as before-- Tim might have seen his faint glow as he waited for the full moon’s arrival but these strangers won’t catch him if he can help it.

With his heart thudding out a beat upon his ribcage, it’s near impossible for him to think. The plan is to sneak in, lure the hunters out /somehow/, then wipe their memories of this place, right? Or maybe it’s to convince their brains it’s time to stop sending signals to their hearts. But, no, he doesn’t know for sure that there are hunters in there, of course he jumps to the worst damn conclusion but, shit, he’s in front of the door and there is movement inside, he can hear footsteps and faint murmuring, someone’s there, someone…

The door bursts open, and Jay can’t think to move out of the way in time. He sees the solid wall zooming towards him, feels it meet him, and the pain registers a second later, once he’s on his back and shaking, gasping for air. 

“Oh-- oh shit!”

Tim’s voice is all around him, too loud for Jay’s tiny ears. He curls into a ball, trying not to scream. The energy to do so is nowhere to be found, and so he’s left clawing into the flesh of Tim’s palm, begging the higher heavens for relief from this sudden headache.

He still hears the man’s voice, but to Jay’s pulsing head, he can’t hope to wrap his mind around what’s being said. Wind hisses past Jay’s ears, and if he dares to open his eyes, he can see they’re moving. The moon fades away, and it’s replaced by the warm glow of candlelight. It’s almost soothing upon Jay’s poor assaulted skull, up until Tim places him on the bedside, well, mattress-side table. The candle is directly above him, glaring and piercing into his brain. 

“Hang on,” Tim’s voice says from a place off in the distance, somewhere Jay can’t reach him. Not as though he has a choice but to ‘hang on’. It isn’t a long wait, though. Tim returns, his fingertip coming to Jay’s forehead, cool and gentle. Water. What comfort the candle brought him is nothing compared to this.

“I had no idea you’d get here so fast, I thought I saw you outside but I didn’t think you were that close to the door,” Tim continues to speak, his voice becoming clearer with each passing second. “But, seriously, I just sent you that email, how the hell did you get here in less than five minutes?”

“W-wait,” Jay forces from a heaving chest. The huge brown eyes hovering in his fuzzy vision squint up in confusion-- that’s right, he can’t hear him when his vocal cords are this thin. He can do this, he can get back to human size, just need to concentrate on something besides the pounding in his skull, think, think…

Something clatters behind Jay, his rear hitting the floor with a great deal of gracelessness. He reaches to rub away the ball of pain in his tailbone, too distracted by the ache to notice Tim stomping out the burst of flame that issued from the candle once it hit the wooden floor. 

“Okay, what do you mean you emailed me?” Jay utters, placing a hand against the wall at his back for balance. He’s on his feet after a good deal of wincing and cursing and when he catches Tim’s gaze, he sees the confusion there has not yet ebbed away.

“I… messaged you asking you to come out here earlier than last time,” Tim says softly, slowly. “I wanted you to be with me because the transformation seems to be happening a bit off schedule.”

Jay blinks. Stands. Waits. Hopes the matter will putter off on its own. 

It won’t. Tim expects an answer, has his arms crossed now and is raising a suspicious eyebrow. Shit. Fast thinking, fast, he can’t do that easily but the situation calls for it and he needs his brain to actually fucking function… wait, /brain/, there!

“Oh yeah!” Jay laughs, the giggling definitely sounding forced to his ears but he can hope for the best, that maybe Tim isn’t so good at picking up on those signs. “Yeah! I remember now! When you hit me it all got kind of scrambled in there and I couldn’t remember why I even came here!”

He keeps laughing, to the point that his chest is hurting from the constant heaving, but Tim isn’t having any of it. The raven haired man keeps that distrustful eyebrow raised, and he hums, not an answer or an acceptance of Jay’s, but he’s apparently feeling merciful today. He leaves it at that, and shrugs, finally letting down his arms and returning to the bedside table. It lays on its side, upset by Jay’s sudden growth.

Watching Tim move with no effort, arms flexing and catching the light given off by another candle next to the bed, Jay sees hair, but not as much as before. His skin glows with a healthy tan, free of the sickly pallor it bore the last time Jay saw it. 

“You seem better than last time,” Jay points out. Tim appears to ignore him, too busy relighting the fallen candle with matches from inside the table to give Jay the time of day. Jay raises his voice as he continues to speak, even when he’s nearly certain that Tim heard him the last time. “Like, you don’t look very hairy. You look human.”

This time Tim meets his eye, expression blank as the unbreakable darkness that has come in with nightfall. 

“I told you last time you were here, I can feel it in me,” Tim explains, too casually, too calmly. He points at his chest, no longer a barrel chest but broad enough that Jay knows he couldn’t take him on in a regular physical brawl. “It’s in my muscles. Not all of it is skin deep, Jay.”

Jay nods. Right. Yes, he does remember that, the straining and the stretch of muscles and bones. 

He also remembers Tim curled up on his mattress, teeth clenched, his nails creating bloody indents inside his palms. Movement was completely out of the question for him, and Jay had to beg him to eat, despite the shooting pains in his teeth and jaw. Bending over to pick up a fallen table? Forget it. Jay would be the one placing it upright as Tim apologized repeatedly for being useless.

But Jay isn’t going to say anything. He has no reason to show him how strange it is that he isn’t buckling at the knees and pleading to be dragged to his makeshift bed. Weird, yes, confusing, hell yes, but convenient? Very much so, yes, he doesn’t need to fight Tim about letting him stay here for the evening and beyond, he wants him here.

And so, he smiles and he nods again, says he understands and that he’s sorry he ever doubted him. He plays ignorant to the relief in Tim’s stance as his shoulders come down, calmed and no longer on the defense.

“So, how do you want me to help you?” Jay asks, unable to stop himself. He couldn’t possibly do anything for him now, and Tim knows that, it’s in the moment too long that he takes trying to think. The man looks around himself, over the empty cabin, with its rusty log-powered oven and its single bookshelf stuffed with books that were likely grabbed off the twenty five cent rack.

“You could… sit down and talk to me. About anything. I don’t care.”

That catches Jay off-guard. That sounds like something friends do. Business partners do talk, but they don’t talk about /anything/. Or maybe he’s thinking too much into it and he ought to do what Tim says, because he’s looking so small on the floor, picking at his own fingernails and his hair in his eyes, accentuating whatever youth he has left that wolfishness hasn’t sapped away from him.

He inches closer, puts the smallest amount of distance between them, where when he mimics Tim and crosses his legs, their feet are brushing. The man doesn’t flinch away or provide Jay with a disapproving look. He sits still, peers out from under his bangs. Waits.

(What do fairies and werewolves talk about?)

\--

(What /do/ werewolves and fairies talk about?)

Maybe Tim should have thought that through before luring Jay back out here again. There are better, less sneaky ways of attempting to make friends. 

Places to sign up online—only to never meet the people on the other side of the internet connection. Church? Forget it, he’d likely burn the moment he stepped into the building. Work isn’t a place to mingle, not for him. Lifting and stocking shit is all he does, and he isn’t going to make that any more complicated than it needs to be.

That’s all out, so here he is, attempting to make awkward conversation with somebody who probably doesn’t even like him. Jay doesn’t know a single thing about him, except that he’s a freak that loses it at certain points during the moon cycle. Talking ought to be able to solve that, except, where does he start? ‘Hi, my name is Tim, and I’m terrified to let anybody get close to me lest I either kill them or they figure out my secret and I get reported to the government or something else equally harrowing’?

Actually, that sounds like a great icebreaker. Better than staring at Jay and hoping he’ll eventually blurt out that he’s faking wolf and that he’s going to leave.

“I’m not so good at this anymore,” Tim admits. He can’t keep his hand down, tells himself he looks dirty, scratching the back of his head like that, but it’s a nervous habit. “Like, I used to be able to talk to people just fine, but then the hairy problem emerged and I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble, or I…”

“You might eat them or make another wolf,” Jay finishes for him, thank god he says it. He nibbles at his fingernail, sending sparkles floating to the floor as he chews. “Well, do you know if you’d make another wolf? Is that just a fairy tale thing?”

Tim provides him with the faintest shrug.

“I’m the only wolf I know. This just /happened/ to me.”

(It’s not the full truth. He remembers his mother, long before she vanished from his life into either the grave or onto better trails. She was a regular woman as far as his younger self knew.)

(But there were the nights where her meals weren’t fit for human consumption. She would cook Tim’s steaks, his burgers, all the way through, but he’d notice that there was an awful lot of blood leaking from her own meat. Once, he asked how well she had done her meat, worrying after seeing that documentary on mad cow disease-- and she said it was fine, go back to eating, Tim.)

(Like many adults, he has no idea how much of that he dreamt up and if it was real in any way, shape, or form. If it did indeed take place, did his mind warp the actual happenings? Can he trust his brain when it has changed and grown since then?)

“…I don’t want to press the issue, but--”

“No,” Tim mumbles, waving Jay off. “I don’t care. Ask anything. Just keep talking to me.”

A glimmer of nerves passes Jay’s face at his urgency, and for a second Tim thinks he’s lost him but he doesn’t go anywhere, no, he stays right there, thinking, eyes to the ceiling.

“How old were you when it started?”

A bitter smile tugs at Tim’s lips. 

“This started last year, remember my ad? I was twenty four and I was still growing hair out of the weirdest places, like a teenager,” he says slowly. His voice grows soft and dull at the memory of lights in his eyes and serious voices over his head. “Then I passed out at work. When I got to the ER and they’d poked and prodded me, they couldn’t figure out why but they thought I’d be dead within the week.”

(“Something in your bloodstream… Lethal…”)

(He’d faded in and out, clutching his heart, hearing the racket it was making on the monitor. None of what the doctors said to him remains in full inside his memories. But he remembers enough to wish he’d never been through that day.)

“So here you are now,” Jay utters, bringing him out of his trance. He bobs his head, trying to nod, not quite getting it.

“Here I am,” Tim parrots. 

They let the air settle between them. Tim sees the unsaid implications rolling inside Jay’s brain, coming together and fitting. He would smile at the fact that Jay isn’t flinching away if reliving the memory hadn’t stolen half his energy. 

“…well, I’ve been a fairy my whole life without the whole ‘you’re gonna die’ spiel at the hospital,” Jay eventually says. “Generally, when you fall out of a flower, hospitals are the last thing on your mind.”

He smiles for Tim, and at that, Tim has to return it.

“When did you fall out of your flower?” Tim asks. Jay leans back on his hands, gazing into his lap and humming under his breath.

“In human time, I would say about a year ago. So I am as old as a young toddler.”

That’s what gets Tim, like a pillow to the face-- startling but delightful all the same. He laughs at the image of a toddler slapping his wolf self on the nose, yelling it down, trying to climb on his back. Jay is laughing too, a tinkling bell-like sound that trickles into his chest and heats it through.

If he didn’t believe Jay was a fairy before, he certainly believes it now.


	6. A Chase Under the Winter Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay is tending to Tim, making the transformation almost bearable-- when Tim slips out from between his careless fingertips, sneaking into the night and following the whims of the beast within his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for bone injuries + body horror, blood, and intent to harm animals (as a means of acquiring food).

The talking doesn’t stop, even after the first awkward night where they tripped over their words and spent a majority of the time staring at one another as opposed to opening their mouths.

Sometimes it’s meaningful.

Tim learns of Jay’s ‘home life’, if it can be called such. He weaves tales of homeless shelters kicking him out on the street after taking one look at his glittering skin and refusal to constantly wear clothing that ‘matches’ his supposed gender. 

“Why waste free clothes?” Jay said as he nodded to the thick sweater he wore that evening, the fabric a sweet pink and clinging to Jay’s thin form. “This was practically free, anyway-- I think I only spent about five dollars on it.”

Tim can’t help noticing that most of these shelters are geared towards a Christian-based agenda. He doesn’t say anything, but he thinks Jay already sees the pattern in his rejections.

Whether Jay is really gay, he has no idea, nor does he really care. Besides, Tim knows it’s more complicated than ‘I like guys and I am a guy’. 

“I mean, I know I seem like a stereotypical flamboyant sort of guy, and that’s okay with me, I’ve met guys like that in the kinder shelters and they’re just people, I don’t care if I seem like them,” Jay babbled on, running his hands up and down the soft sweater for heat. “The thing is… you humans are weird with your ‘two genders only’ thing. I didn’t even know what a gender was when I fell out of my flower. People just started calling me a boy and I didn’t know what else to do, so I went with it.”

Just like that, Jay isn’t a strange dirty creature of the streets. He’s a confused fairy, trying to make it through the cold nights, much like Tim is a confused beast attempting to keep his life together.

(He never meant to judge Jay harshly, but, it happened. Everyone makes mistakes. Maybe Tim isn’t as open-minded as he wants to be.)

Meanwhile, Jay learns all about him, not that there is much to be said. He’s a drop-out because fuck high school kids and everything to do with the system of education. Job is a simple nine to five shindig of emptying trucks, helps pay for the apartment. It bulked him up and molded him into a being capable of handling big tools and carrying around fallen tree trunks, hence why he was able to handle the project of crafting this whole cabin on his lonesome. 

“You oughta wear less baggy shirts then,” Jay told him, eyeing his arms hungrily. “You obviously have muscles, but… don’t be ashamed of them. I’m jealous, I can’t hold on to muscle if my life depended on it.”

Indeed, Tim turned a garish shade of red at those words, but he quietly kept his sleeves rolled up for the rest of that evening. His arms had grown hairier by that point, several nights after the day Jay first arrived. 

(He couldn’t help feeling they added to the appeal of his revealed arms. Maybe. Perhaps. He’d have to ask Jay if he liked it. Or not.)

Beyond the werewolf thing, what is there to talk about? He pays taxes, he watches movies in the theater on his own, he buys off brand food and soap. He’s a human being most of the time, managing his life, a middle class nobody-- unlike Jay, navigating the world while everyone’s ever so bendable wills are at his fingertips. 

Still, Jay rattles him, forces him to talk about the smallest of things so that there isn’t a silent moment between them. 

And tonight--

“I don’t know how you can handle coffee. It makes me want to rip out of my skin.”

Caffeine is the Hot Topic of the hour, with Jay tearing apart the terrors of coffee and the case of jitters it often brings with its consumption. He’s a tea man, if caffeine is to be taken in at all. 

Tim, on the other hand… Tim can barely defend his case. He asked Jay to distract him, talk about anything, keep his mind off of the bones that are breaking and sliding around inside of him. The worst of the transformation pain is upon him, twisting tiny knives inside of his brain, his fingertips, his arms, anywhere it can reach.

He /can/ get his thoughts together enough to tell Jay that he’s a big baby. Nice to know he hangs on to his ruder side when he’s fuzzy and growling.

“Hey, I can’t help it if caffeine overwhelms my tiny fucking body,” Jay shoots back with such ease. Tim briefly questions how he can speak that quickly before remembering, yes, Jay isn’t undergoing this transformation, it’s just him.

“Decaf,” Tim manages to push out of his clenching chest-- and that’s the last word he will remember uttering aloud. 

He rolls off of his mattress, clutching at his stomach. His hands meet the floor, knees coming next, and black trickles in, like liquid, and it freezes and leaves him staring into darkness. Last thing he sees is Jay’s back facing him, tending to the tea he’s making for himself. He claimed the herbs he was putting into it would make his pain bearable and help him along to a calmer sleep.

Tim would laugh if he could locate his voice in the mess of that is his exploding chest. He doubts that the tea would do him much good now.

But, Jay isn’t looking at him.

He doesn’t know. 

And he can’t open his mouth, pry apart his strengthened jaw and call out to him, stop him, Jay, please, stop him, he can’t stop himself. His teeth gnash and he can smell blood before it has even touched his salivating mouth, a small heart is beating out there and he’s going to have it.

But

No

Is it a rabbit’s heart? A squirrel’s?

A human heart?

Jay, /please/--

\---

The water is screaming for Jay’s attention. He soothes it, talking aloud to it; I’m here, hush yourself now. He takes off the kettle’s cap and dips his fingers into the boiling water, with no consequences. It cools down at his touch, to a temperature that’s suitable for consumption. 

“Alright, I’ll admit, the herbs make this tea taste like mud,” Jay says, taking the kettle Tim brought to the cabin for them to share since neither of them wanted to go out to the lake for a drink, not during these chilly evenings. He pours it into a black mug, over the mound of crushed up grasses and petals he collected the night before. “But if you think it’ll help, I’ll put some sugar in. I don’t know if it’ll alter the effects, though.”

Tim fails to reply. That’s okay. The whole night has been him talking and Tim listening, clinging to his words in the hopes that they’ll be a distraction from the needles driving deep into his muscles. That’s Jay’s job, to help Tim.

(Their definition of help seems to be constantly morphing now. Help, when Jay first arrived, meant to keep Tim from murdering the entire city of Tuscaloosa.)

(Then it meant to make being a werewolf bearable.)

(Now, if Jay didn’t know better, it would seem like help has turned into behaving like friends.)

(Not that Jay has any past experience to use as a reference point, unless looking after stray cats counts as making friends.)

“I think I’m good for now, so, I’ll skip out on the tea. More for you, right?” Jay continues to babble without a care, placing aside the second mug that he found sitting beside the log-powered stove. Clutching Tim’s tea close to his heart, he turns to face him.

He’s greeted instead by the sight of his empty mattress.

The mug clatters to the floor, smashing into a great many pieces. Sopping greenery spills out over Jay’s bare feet and water seeps into the wood. Maybe later on, he’ll worry about Tim’s anger over the broken cup, seeing as he only keeps two in the cabin-- but that’s if he actually fucking finds him. 

Jay zips toward the door, hanging open to let in the winter air. His friend’s name rips from his throat, bursting out into the night and failing to fall upon a single ear. No movement from the ground, no shuddering trees, nothing.

He leaves the cabin behind him, rushing into the night. Feet are all but forgotten; he’s in the air, branches slapping him across the face and jabbing into his thin shirt, leaving long gashes in the fabric. If he were in his right frame of mind, he would be disgusted with himself; he’s never flown so sloppily in his life. 

But his thoughts are of Tim and Tim alone. A late night jogger, stumbling across the world’s most ferocious dog. Hunters that aren’t quick enough on the draw. Tim slipping into town, finding an errant couple that can’t possibly run fast enough to escape. 

(And as horrible as it is to imagine Tim’s worst fears coming to life, Jay fixates on the thought of the hunter-- the gun is already in their hands, prepped for something like Tim coming their way, and, the trigger…)

The wind is not on his side tonight. Wings catching upon the stream, a pair of invisible hands shove Jay back, a punch to the stomach, to the chest, and he’s toppling back to Earth, screaming bloody murder. His throat is in shreds when he comes to, leaving his head for perhaps all of two seconds but those two seconds are enough for Tim to decide if he wants to sink his teeth in a passerby. 

Dirt rubs into his scuffed palms and knees, his mouth tastes of a thousand metals and there isn’t anything out here. He’s alone, thumping his fists to the ground, hating himself-- he had one job, one fucking job.

He’s screaming again, fighting past the rattling in his chest. There’s only one word on his lips, it’s Tim’s name and he’s sorry, please don’t tell him to leave, he didn’t mean to fail him, please, come back, Tim.

(He can’t lose this. One year, one year was enough to show him a life without somebody who understands is not a life worth living. Someone who understands the hatred of humans, the anger and the need to be like them versus the bitterness. Tim understands that need to be out and open about the things they /can’t/ be out and open about, and the anger in knowing they can never talk about these things… and the relief in confiding in somebody else. Oh, he understands that more than anything else.)

(Jay knows this, /this/, between them, it runs deeper than that.)

(He has no name for it but it is more and he can’t lose it.)

Nothing answers his cries. 

He doesn’t stop screaming. 

\--

a lonely forest floor is his company. somewhere a beating heart pounds and it is going to be his. 

on all fours, he flies fast. tall trees chase after his retreating tail. the moon follows, ever present, sitting on his heels and threatening to climb his back. he is fast. so fast. the trees cannot have him nor can the moon but they can try. 

his stomach speaks to him and weaves tales of the blood that could be pouring from his lips right now. beautiful red paint coating his teeth, white to pink to devilish red, spattering the soil and blessing it for future roots. he will save this forest. it will be full of life but only if he banishes the life that pervades it now.

wait. 

what is that, a cry in the night, shattering this perfect illusion that these woods are his and his alone? another beast that hungers for the crunch of bones within its maw? but these trees are /his/, but, this cry, it is a summon for companionship and it is one he cannot ignore.

his great yellow eyes lift to the heavens, eyeing the glowing sphere. it returns his stare, piercing his soul, forcing his head back and ushering out a long, throaty howl. he feels it all over his body, reverberating from his chest and beating against his bones, as though to urge him forward, to find his companions.

and so he does, he runs again, nails kicking dirt out behind him and tail held straight. the beast flies with ease, these are his trees and they bow to his will, seem to hop out of his path and leave it clear for him but in truth he is simply agile and that makes his broad chest fill up with pride. he has to unleash that pride in a second howl, much shorter but just as powerful as the one that came seconds before.

there. in the distance, where the trees thin out and a flat field awaits, a group of creatures like him wait together. flowers sprout from the earth, though the beasts have stomped them down, and the weather isn’t helping them along any. the wolves growl and snap at each other, not in anger but to bond, like a family, like--

(friends)

something soft clings to his hand, caught in his claws. he sits back on his haunches, picks at it with his free hand, barking at no one when he accidentally slits his own palm open. damn nails.

thin, blue, glittery, it’s cloth but he doesn’t think anything of it. 

not until he lets himself inhale its scent.

images of green flood his memory, green vines, wrapping around him then releasing him. gentle tones, firm, but gentle, and fond all the same. blue eyes peering into his. legs on either side of his shoulders, thin fingers petting his hair from his eyes.

yes.

the fairy. he never forgot the fairy, but in his hopes of finding a meal, well, the fairy was not exactly the first thing on his mind.

he belongs to those hands, the hands that overwhelmed him and commanded his every move. they keep him from chasing the wrong heartbeats, and they care for him. he must return to those hands, regardless of the call of these beasts. 

his last howl is not one of promise but an apology; he cannot come and play, he must hunt with his owner and his owner alone, he knows what is best.

the pack’s combined call to him falls upon his back, an acceptance, albeit a sad one.

come play some other day, friend, come back then, and maybe he will.

but only if his fairy can come play too.

head back, he breathes in. the fairy’s aroma is heavy in the air. he was here, not too long ago, but that fairy is light on his feet and lighter when in the air. 

down on all fours, he can press his nose close to the soil and inhale, deep. sweet sugar fills his senses, flooding into his brain. something clings to his face when he lifts his head, tickles his nose and shoves a sneeze from his chest. 

glittering pieces snow down from his face and back onto the dirt. it forms a trail that he had not noticed during his journey here, when he was enchanted by the call of his so called brethren. they are the substance of his fairy, the essence of him.

no more smelling his way along; it wouldn’t do to sneeze himself into a coma before finding his poor fairy. each step he takes now is calculated, following the path of little blue stars. they track onto his palms and glow against his skin, and when his feet land hard against the dirt, the glitter is scattered and clings to the fur lining his arms and stomach. he is a lit beacon gliding through the dead trees, light devouring the dark--

and that light guides him to a collapsed body, leaning against a thick and many-ringed stump. the woods thin out here, leaving behind brittle grass and grey dirt. 

his beautiful mistress, the moon, fixes her gaze on the broken being laying upon the legs of a dead tree. it’s like death attracts death, and yes, the fairy is close, teetering on the lines between an icy leave from earth and sleep. no wonder: his shirt is in shreds, and his feet are uncovered. poor chilled fairy.

his shoulders rise and close together, his breaths labored, and he doesn’t see the beast that comes nosing around him, too exhausted to give him a second glance. 

he nudges his head under the fairy’s chest, calmly strolls under him until he is draped over his back, stomach against his spine, sapping any heat he has to spare. a soft moan breaks the still air; the beast lets out a long sigh feeling the fairy shifting, pressing his face into the crook of his shoulder. 

there is only one place for him to be now. finding the way home is simple, following the footprints left by frantic toes and glitter shed off by twitching trembling skin. these trees are familiar, they smell of his own fur, the sweet bliss that hovers around the fairy’s veins. 

a tiny flame is in the distance, visible through an open door. the fairy left their safe abode vulnerable to any and all forest creatures, but nothing took advantage of their absence. padding inside, the beast finds their home untouched, though there are shards of porcelain on the floor now. he ignores it in favor of shutting the door with a swish of his tail, locking out the cold in the process. 

slowly readjusting his weight, he rises to stand on his feet, careful to move the fairy to his shoulder where he is bent in half. he moves with purpose, toward the far end of the single room, claws clicking against the floor. at the mattress, he comes to his knees, and the fairy slides from his arms easily. his back meets the soft surface, providing a safe cushion.

starry blue eyes flutter, peering out under dark eyelashes. they rest upon the beast’s immense form, moving up and down, taking him in. 

the fairy’s smile is one of relief, delirious and delighted relief.

it vanishes as quickly as it came, and the fairy rolls onto his side, away from the beast. he sees the vague shivers of his limbs, and he comes down to join him without a single ounce of hesitance. surrounding him completely, he tucks the fairy against his ample stomach and chest, fuzzy arm wrapped around his delicate hip.

his insides rumble, and the heartbeats of the forest creatures are upon his ears.

the fairy is all he can see, though, all he can think of, and he buries his face in his hair, protecting him from the ice in his bones.


	7. A Protector's Sickness and Lovesickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fairy awakens on a bed of leaves, and the beast tends to him. He has no right to be as gentle as he is as he claws his way into the fairy's chest. He finds a hollow space there and takes it for his own.
> 
> Whether or not that's a good thing is up in the air for the owner of that chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for smoking. That's it, strangely tame chapter.

Sweat, dirt, heat. It wafts into Jay’s mouth, up to his brain, clouding his thoughts and pushing him back toward the blackness he just clawed his way out of. 

Pain rumbles up his chest and into his throat as he groans aloud. Covering his face, he scrubs at his eyes, trying to drag his consciousness kicking and screaming back to the real world. Urgency burns and crackles inside of his ribcage, but he can’t place what it could be for. What happened? Where is he? Why is he shaking with purpose?

A cushioned surface beneath his fragile bones, keeping him safe from bruises. Shifting onto his side, he picks up on the sound of rustling autumn leaves, and looking down, he sees he is covered in them, like the sort of false blanket he would make for himself out in the city. They are beneath his head as well, sticking in his hair when he goes to sit up. He shakes them out, clawing at the itchy feeling they left in their wake. 

It doesn’t take long for him to realize this is Tim’s mattress-- no wonder it smells the way it does, wolfish and woodsy. Did Jay take these leaves to the makeshift bed? He’d never steal Tim’s resting spot from him, though, he’d sooner hop into a flower outside…

But, Tim isn’t himself now. He wouldn’t come home to rest. 

Jay’s memory bank switches on like glaring neon lights and they might as well be an alarm, scaring Jay’s heart into slamming out a beat along his ribs. He kicks the rest of the leaves off his legs and moves to stand, but-- but his damned body, he’s falling to his knees and uttering a breathless cry, the air shoved out of his lungs by invisible squeezing fists.

And, more hands, they’re on him and holding him, gentle in comparison but hot with a power that is holding itself back. They rest on his shoulders, coming from above. 

Jay finds the strength to lift his head, meeting the sunny eyes of the beast he was meant to be protecting the night before.

Tim stands tall over him, even while he is hunched at the shoulders. It’s easy to be intimidated by the sight of him, as large as he is, bulky arms with teeth coming past his lips and claws to boot. His control in holding Jay, though, taking care not to dig those sharp nails into Jay’s skin, stifles any fear Jay might feel in this moment.

All he can think about is the heat radiating out of these hands.

“Did you bring me here?” he asks of the beast. He receives a nod, and a push, one that he couldn’t hope to resist. Flopping back against the mattress, he immediately begins to babble his protest. “Wait, no, I have to…”

Have to what? Tim is calm, lurking toward the corner of the room on his legs rather than all fours and picking up a handful of sweet grass. He has the chance to go bursting out of the cabin, secure in the knowledge that Jay cannot chase after him, but he remains, bringing Jay the grass and pressing it to his lips like he wishes for him to eat it. 

He opens his mouth, letting the grass fall in. It takes an extraordinary amount of effort not to wince at the taste of this dying plant-- it is at its best when freshly plucked but Tim went out and gathered food for him, accumulating in a pile of picked flowers and leaves in the corner. He can’t say no to that, especially when he can’t so much as stand without collapsing to the floor again.

“What happened to me?” Jay manages between being fed grass bits. 

Tim peers into his eyes, face pinched up like he asked the worst favor of him. Oh, yes, Tim can’t speak. Jay’s stuck with yes-no questions for the time being. He sucks the juices from a thicker grass blade, poring over the fuzzy memories that hover on the edges of his skull. 

“You escaped. I know I went out after you and you were somewhere out of reach,” Jay says, speaking at a monotone. He continues when Tim nods, pleased to find his memory is at least somewhat reliable. “It’s… not all there after that. I was on the ground and I got really cold and tired and I had to catch my breath. Past that I must’ve, I dunno, passed out.”

Again, Tim nods. He lifts a large hand and rests it on Jay’s bare arm-- where his sleeve ought to be. The fairy didn’t realize it until now but his shirt is in shreds, the sleeves and sides more jagged rags than fabric. He frowns, worrying the material between his numb fingertips and his thumb. Jay has a limited supply of clothes, he can’t afford to go destroying them by flying off in a frenzy between the grabby tree branches. 

“You found me, then, and you said you brought me here, so… a-alright, but, aren’t you hungry?” Jay utters, shrugging Tim’s hands off of him (no, come back, he’s warm, so warm and Jay is still shaking) and-- fuck, his head is too heavy to hold up. He coughs, a dry puff of air shoved out from inside him. “You’re hungry, if you’re hungry I gotta feed you and make sure you eat the right thing, or you’ll, you’ll…”

The grass Tim was holding is scattered on the floor beside the mattress, forgotten now. He steps over Jay’s prone body, moving with purpose and care. Fuzz tickles the back of Jay’s neck, hot air brushing over his ear. Instinct pushes him to flinch-- but the arm that slips around his shoulders and the hand that comes up to rest against his heart soothes him into stillness.

Icicles are hanging from his bones and weighing on his muscles, though they melt under the heat of the beast winding himself around Jay’s trembling form. He is small in his embrace, but safe and sound. His veins rush and flood, knowing that there will be biting, clawing from this creature that has proven itself to be anything but gentle when left to its own devices.

(Jay isn’t doing a thing. He lacks the energy to focus on Tim and his will. He can’t force him to bend and bow to his wishes should he decide Jay looks tasty.)

(But this is Tim. This is Tim clinging to him from behind, cold nose nuzzling into a sweet spot behind his ear and legs looping around Jay’s waist.)

(Warming him. Protecting him.)

(Like no one else ever has.)

(No one else has ever even wanted to.)

When Jay starts to shake-- not from cold, but from this great, expanding /thing/ inside of him, straining and pushing on his ribcage and his throat-- Tim’s arms wind tighter around him, pressing him more securely against his chest.

The crystalline teardrops that slide from Jay’s cheeks go unnoticed. 

\--

Tim is shaking.

Jay shakes with him. He has no choice, with Tim’s whole body practically draped over him. The trembles riddle his limbs and chest, his breathing coming in harsh shudders that puff out over Jay’s neck. 

Yet, he still doesn’t awaken. Taking his careful time in rolling to face Tim-- near impossible, heavy as the arm laid out on his shoulder is-- he peers into the man’s face and finds a human nose in place of the cold squared one that was in his neck all night. 

His eyebrows are drawn together, features pinched up as though in pain. While the fuzz upon his cheeks and chin remains, the long grizzly hair that riddles his limbs and chest is vanishing, slowly shrinking away. Muscles beneath the skin are softening, not fading away altogether but Jay is no longer pinned down by the mere weight of Tim’s arm. Stretch marks that were not there the night before have scratched themselves out onto Tim’s hips and arms, lightning patterns slashed into his skin. 

And yet, /yet/ Tim slumbers throughout the transformation. His ears don’t point and jut out anymore, and when he grits his teeth, they do not cut into his upper lip-- his jutting incisors are gone. 

Black coffee eyes open up to meet Jay’s blues, and immediately wince shut, a soft groan rumbling in Tim’s throat.

“Shit, that was awful,” he hisses, throat cracking, dry from dehydration. He scrubs his hand up and down his face, mumbling to himself, and-- it takes him a second, but, he realizes where he’s lying, who he’s lying with, legs tangling with Jay’s. Tim stares, looking down at their huddling bodies, eyes dragging up the length of Jay’s form until he meets his eyes again. “…Well.”

“To be fair, it was your idea,” Jay whispers; why is he keeping his voice low? So the wolf inside Tim won’t hear? His heart is climbing his throat, hooking its toes into his windpipe. Breathing, keep breathing, this isn’t his fault, though what a word to use, ‘fault’, like this is a bad thing, this warmth and safety.

But he can’t read what’s in Tim’s wide eyes. Confusion, yes, but, is that anger underlying it? Fear?

“Yeah, I know it was, I just, I forgot,” he utters in one long exhale. Tim takes his arm back, sitting up and looking to Jay, like he expected him to follow.

Jay remains where he is, his skin surging with cold. Cold, cold, cold.

(Come back.)

“How are you feeling?” Tim asks of him, still looking over Jay as though he might rise to join him any moment. Nerves are quick to creep up on him when he sees that Jay isn’t moving any time soon. “I remember you weren’t feeling well and I wanted to make sure you were okay, but, are you still not, uh, yourself?”

(Do you want the truth or to be reassured?)

Jay summons up all the strength he has left in his broken body and pushes himself to sit upright. He doubts it looked anywhere effortless; if he were watching himself, he wouldn’t be convinced he was okay. 

But he has to be. His work here is done. He doesn’t belong here.

Tim’s eyes are fixed on him, watching his every move, the twitches that suck the steadiness from his arms. He forces a calm smile, pushing onto his knees and pretending his toes aren’t numb when he tumbles into something akin to a standing position. 

“I’m good,” Jay insists. Tim rises with him, lacking the ease of the man that was walking around last week, while they laughed and spoke as friends would (what happened to that? was that a dream?). He still moves easier than Jay, like the cool air isn’t sitting on him and insisting on pushing him toward the floor. The man eyes Jay, the familiar sight of suspicion in his furrowed brow. “I really am, I’m okay.”

He makes it as far as the door before Tim’s voice catches him, a vocal grab at the scruff of his neck: “You can stay, if you need to.”

And Jay thinks, yes, he does need to stay. This is where he could let himself cry, and he would be safe. He doesn’t need to be protected, he can defend himself, easy. He can concentrate, and that would be that. 

He has always looked out for himself and nobody else has ever wanted to do it for him.

So he lingers, wonders, looks back at Tim, vulnerable in his nudity save for the boxers hanging onto his now somewhat thinner hips. 

He’s unreadable. 

Unreadable as the man Jay woke up to, the man who jerked away at the sight of him lying too close, too warm, too near.

And that’s why he can’t stay.

He can’t stand to have Tim look at him that way again.

“Thank you,” Jay says, head bowing before he smiles again and ducks away, pretending he doesn’t hear Tim’s stammering attempt at a farewell, or maybe a question that Jay doesn’t think he can answer. He shuts the door behind him, is back where he needs to be, where he really belongs.

Here, the air is cool, but it doesn’t suck the breath from Jay’s lungs as it did the evening he chased out after Tim. The sun is gleaming in, white light parting the bare black branches, acting as persistent hands. Clouds smudge the skies, threatening to devour the sun, but for now, Jay has light.

(A candlelight, warm, but not as warm as the body upon his, and yellow stars, moons, yellow moons piercing into him, true light--)

He closes his eyes, and wills life into his wings, lifts himself off the ground and over the branches. Until the sun is gone, he will soak up as much of it as he can, chip the ice off his flesh.

He will feel, /hah/, human again, as human as he can.

\--

A pair of white knuckles are wrapped around the steering wheel of a lone car zipping down a highway into town, away from Rosswood Woods and towards the suburbs. Tim’s eyes are fixed on the black blur that is the road before him, but he sees through it, to a place only he can see. 

In the past, driving home, to his real home, was a relief. With its utilities and heater and actual proper oven with actual /food/ that he can eat, it’s a great sight better than the fucking cabin. No matter how much work he puts into making it livable and even somewhat homey, it will never be a proper /home/ by American standards. 

Right now, he ought to be having visions of baked potatoes, cooked meat, soup, a bed that can support his back, phone reception. Human things. Human comforts. 

He’s stuck on his life in the woods.

No. Not just that. He’s stuck on Jay. 

The fairy drifts as a ghost inside his skull, clinging to his thoughts and invading them with a persistence that matches the real life version. He demands to be remembered, sitting firm, reflecting the parting image Jay left him with: his retreating back, eyes down, skin washed out and body trembling under the strength of the cold.

Never before has Tim had a clearer memory of when he lost his body to the creature that snarls inside of him at the rising of the full moon. He remembers holding Jay, feeding him, tending to his shivering form. If he concentrates on the thought, he recalls how it felt to see Jay upon the forest floor, a broken body, lost to the elements. Fear, sharp and cold, striking into his heart-- and determination yanked that dagger out of his chest, pushed him to tug Jay close and take him to safety. His limp form, close to flopping off of his back… his pulse is skipping at all of the ‘almosts’. 

Almost lost him. Almost dead. Almost didn’t make it. Almost.

When Jay first arrived here, Tim was certain that he wouldn’t stick around, for one reason or another. Too much trouble, fussing over a stupid werewolf… or being eaten and torn to bloody pieces by said werewolf. He didn’t /want/ those things to happen but if they did, he wouldn’t have been surprised. If he didn’t learn to expect the worst while living with his condition, he would constantly be on the floor, clutching at his heart and crying out his guilt. 

Expecting the worst often led to being resigned to the worst, and now, imagining Jay finally growing sick of him, the feeling is something akin to having a dagger between his ribs. Tim has to clutch onto the steering wheel to keep focused on the road-- who knew a mental blade could be this sharp? 

And the worst part is, yes, /worst/, is that he knows he isn’t scared of losing him because that would mean losing control. Jay means more than control.

Jay means company. Understanding. Sweet sugar on the air, glitter everywhere on the floor, the mattress-- fuck, Tim is shaking it out of his hair still, picking bits of it from his bangs. He can see it on the steering wheel, it’s probably on the seat, Jay is with him and won’t go unheard.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t supposed to be something that would stick with Tim outside of that fucking cabin. 

Jay wasn’t controlling him that night, he didn’t bid the beast to come back and rescue him from the winter’s harsh biting teeth. This was all Tim, all his instinct, his intent. He performed the seeming impossible: he shrugged off the urge for blood and meat, slicing apart tinier animals with his teeth and claws, in favor of taking care of somebody for nothing in return. 

Like a loyal dog, a young wolf realizing who loves it, who will hold it when the nights are long and painful.

Like he imprinted on Jay. 

(It would make sense, in its own way. Regardless of how old Tim is, the wolfish part of him is a baby, barely old enough to be alone. A baby would see Jay, this strong creature, tugging him around by the scruff and throwing him down when he dares to rebel against his wishes… and he would see a pack leader, or, god, an /owner/.)

Tim’s stomach is clenching and awash with green. He wants to be angry that he would see Jay that way, or that Jay has that much control over him.

He can’t be, though, not when it isn’t Jay’s fault, and not when he likes it.

He likes waking to the sight of blue eyes. He likes the sound of tiny bells ringing-- the sound of his laugh. He likes the gentle hands that soothe sore muscles and the transparent wings that glimmer under the watchful gaze of the white winter sun. He likes the messy brown hair that got in his face while they slumbered away the cold. He likes those disgusting teas he creates that actually do what he says they’ll do but shit if they aren’t unpalatable. 

He likes it all, likes this creature that came tripping into his life and demanded to be a sparkly blue centerpiece in it.

The car wheels squawk when he brakes in front of his home, a plain brick building of apartments with not enough windows and not enough bathrooms, either. As usual, at this time of night, nobody is poking around the neighborhood, save for the twenty four seven corner store that sells his favorite cigarettes. Some new cashier is outside the doors, probably on their self-imposed break.

Tim hates to interrupt their peace but he needs the distraction tonight. He’s one of those people who claims they can quit anytime they want to and he actually can, decides when and if he wants a cigarette instead of letting his body call the shots.

If only it was that easy with the wolf bullshit. Then he might not be dealing with the fairy bullshit now.

Once he’s locked the car behind him and he’s on his way up the cracking sidewalk, the cashier catches sight of him and they visibly sigh, making a show of struggling to switch off their phone and vanishing back into the shop. The doors jingle when Tim catches up and follows suit, and he makes a beeline for the front counter, beating the cashier there.

“Marlboros. Please,” Tim asks, tacking on the politeness in the hopes of wiping the displeased scowl from the cashier’s face. They continue to frown and flip their long ponytail over their shoulder while turning to fetch the cigarettes off the shelves behind them. 

He has just enough cash left on him to pay for his order. Tim pretends to ignore the unnecessary slamming of the register and turns his back on the cashier, leaving them to return to their nail-picking and mumbling.

Back in town, the air ought to be less chilly than it is in the woods, where there aren’t buildings acting as windbreakers or people bustling around emanating body heat. Come nighttime though, Tim is left hugging his bare arms on this desolate street corner, a flickering lamp providing him with a false sense of security.

He can’t go home, yet. Can’t go back and admit that all those creature comforts (hah, creature) aren’t going to do it for him anymore. They’ll be… nice, yes, like the cigarette between his fingers, convenient like the car he drove here, but they won’t bring him the peace of resting next to someone who will smile when they see he’s awake.

Inhale, hang onto the smog, cloud his brain for a few seconds, no more thinking, no more. 

Exhale. It comes flooding back. Knocks into him. A wave too strong to stand against.

Jay is dragging him down. He isn’t human. He can’t be human.

And he doesn’t want to be if he can’t have the peaceful rest he found in those nights spent together.


	8. Permanency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim decides it's time to remedy Jay's little problem and drag him screeching and kicking into his home.
> 
> Meanwhile, it's clear as ever that even monsters can be just as awful as humans when it comes to communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for body horror in terms of things moving beneath the skin and bones breaking. Content warning: some homophobic slurs tossed around casually by Jay (about himself), and some internalized classism.

Living in the woods has its perks. 

Back in town, Tim’s apartment is set on the first floor, and his morning alarm comes in the form of his bed rumbling while the seven o’ clock train zips past the building. It was actually quite useful up until he was assigned night shifts at the shop. By now, it’s a nuisance, and he never manages to fall back asleep until the most inconvenient time possible, like his body is against him having a good day’s rest as well.

Out here, he’s met with no disturbances-- unless something wild happens, like a squirrel chewing up the roof and falling inside and on his face as a result. Yes, that’s happened. Twice.

Here, when there aren’t any tiny screaming rats toppling onto his face and very nearly scratching his eyes out, he can set his alarm on his phone and happily pass out. 

Normally, if he wakes up an hour or more before his phone is meant to start shrieking at him, he’ll roll back over and slow-breathe himself back to unconsciousness. With the changing of the moon playing games and tap-dancing on top of his sleeping cycle, he gets as much downtime as he can.

Today, he didn’t remain in bed when he rolled across the scratched up sheets and discovered it was five in the morning. 

Instead, he sat up, scrubbing his palms down his unshaven face. What little facial hair he had the night before is now a full beard. What a fast couple of weeks those were, back home, wandering the day to day life on autopilot. 

Peering past his fingers, he sees the first dredges of white sunlight seeping in through the cracks in the walls. This small room, with the bedroom being in the same room as the kitchen and living room, seems incapable of containing him on those hairy evenings. Lucky for him, he never procrastinates when it comes to rebuilding, and Jay is a master, knows what buttons to push and what words will lull him into behaving.

He doesn’t change out of his night shirt and shorts, which are really just his old work shirt and his boxers. No need to; no neighbors to report him for indecency when he’s covered up and can’t help being a little lazy. The door creaks when he crosses the room and opens it. Morning dew drips from the leaves, landing on his hair and chilling him awake. The dirt is cool beneath the bare soles of his feet, but he walks forward anyway, brings himself to sit in a ring of grass where the soil is dead and forming a bare brown circle. 

Living out here was nothing more than a necessity in Tim’s eyes. He didn’t see it as a chance to get closer to nature; he isn’t a forty year old man searching for purpose in the fucking moss that grows on the trees around him. 

But sitting in the dawn’s parted and warm arms, he can see what the fuss is about. Nature is messy and disgusting; the evidence is there in his house, in the mud tracks he can’t wash off regardless of how hard he scrubs at them. Worse yet are the plants and bugs that nibble and rub his skin red raw, then sting him if he dares to swat back. 

When it’s quiet and the birds are waking to tend to their young, Tim gets it. He can overlook the itching and the occasional animal that has claws and a bad temper. Sunrises aren’t something he gets to watch all that often, and to see them beaming down through the treetops, resembling transparent curtains, the feeling he gets from the sight is indescribable. 

He turns his gaze to the grass before him. Dew glimmers upon the lovely green blades, jewel-like and weighing them down. They bounce when he reaches to stroke them, and the droplets fall to the soil before vanishing completely. 

There aren’t any flowers around his home. Jay tends to take them and do god knows what with them. Something fairy-like and magical, most likely. For all Tim knows he eats them and that’s what he lives off of. He joked the other night about being so broke once he made meals out of dew and flower petals. Maybe Tim misinterpreted and he wasn’t kidding…

Either way, it’s a shock to see a sweet blue flower amongst the grass, standing tall and proud. He notices it when the rapidly moving streams of sun come to land upon it, shining through the thin and delicate petals. If somebody were to ask him what sort of flower it was, Tim would be blubbering and stumbling over his words. He might say a daisy, but he has no clue whether they come in colors besides white. This blue is vibrant, burning his eyes if he stares too long.

Too vibrant, actually. Like a lightbulb is sitting in the middle of the flower.

He squints, coming closer on all fours until he’s face-to-face with it. Maybe he’s mistaken, but he sure doesn’t think so, no, he /knows/ he sees a human figure curled up on the yellow middle. They appear to be asleep, boney shoulders rising up and down to a certain rhythm. Upon closer inspection, it seems they’re clinging to a petal and holding it to their form, folding it over to use as a blanket.

If he really squints, he sees that the being has sunken in eyes and tawny hair that fluffs up at the crown of his head, spilling out on the ‘pillow’ beneath. That pointed chin is unmistakable as well-- he’s looking at Jay.

“Hey,” Tim whispers to the strange miniature version of his friend. The creature stirs and hides his face in the makeshift pillow. Rolling his eyes, Tim reaches to push down on the back of the flower, forcing it to bow and deposit a shrieking Jay into his waiting palm. He lands face down in Tim’s hand and whips his head side to side, his little bare chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Wh-- why’d you do that?!” Jay demands, raising his fist and waving it up at Tim-- to little effect. Hearing his voice like this, coming out in a useless squeak, Tim finds himself incapable of containing his laughter. He covers his mouth to deaden the sound some, but Jay can tell when he’s being laughed at. The fairy crosses his arms and pouts up at him. “First you wake me up and then you make fun of me, you’re a /great/ fucking friend.”

“No, no, I’m-- I’m sorry, I promise,” Tim manages. He rubs a finger against the top of Jay’s head, mussing his hair. “This just caught me off-guard. I didn’t know you could, well, look like this.”

The smaller man ducks his head, his hair standing on end. Arms crossing against his chest, Jay closes into himself, his pale face going a faint lavender, like he’s blushing, but, is his blood blue too? His tears and his glitter glimmer and possess a similar hue, it wouldn’t be the most unreasonable assumption.

“There’s a reason you don’t get to see me like this unless there’re walls between us,” Jay huffs. “It’s fucking humiliating, falling into the damn stereotype.”

“There’re fairy stereotypes?” Tim asks sincerely as he can while he’s swallowing back a smile. He can’t stand it, he’s never seen anything like this. A miniature Jay, his wings out, bristling and boney, he would say it’s adorable if he wasn’t certain that Jay would set his hair on fire or something equally odd but problematic.

“Uh, /yeah/, like in movies and books-- small and delicate and sweet, cute and shit,” Jay answers, quirking an eyebrow like it ought to be obvious. Kind of hard for Tim to internalize the ‘stereotype’ as Jay says when he never was allowed much television growing up and his mother declared all fairy tale books to be anti-Catholic, but whatever. He listens on anyway, taking Jay’s word for it and nodding. The prickly little fairy kicks at Tim’s palm, letting out a long sigh. “It takes a lot of energy to stay human size so I go compact when I’m sleeping or when I’m alone. You never would’ve taken me seriously if I came to you like this.”

Much as Tim hates to admit it, Jay is right. He tries his best not to judge a book by its cover, but if Jay had arrived here while he was tall as the average toothbrush, he would have laughed him away. No way was such an absurdly small creature capable of keeping him nice and behaved. 

“Point taken, but I don’t think you’re any different for being able to shrink,” Tim attempts to soothe him, careful as he scratches at the base of Jay’s skull. The fairy’s stance loosens, his shoulders dropping and eyes drooping contentedly. “It just shows me you have an extra useful power. You can get in anywhere you want and you’d win at every game of hide and seek.”

Tim achieves what he was working toward-- a floppy smile forms across Jay’s lips and he sighs, strolling across Tim’s palm to wrap his arms around his thumb. An overexcited heat arrives in Tim’s chest and tightens, reminding him of the feeling he gets when he sees a particularly adorable animal (one that he doesn’t want to eat, that is).

“You’re an alright guy sometimes, Tim,” Jay sighs before releasing his embrace. He steps out of Tim’s hand and buzzes up into the air, hovering in front of the larger man. “Better than most of the dogs that come poking around here at night trying to eat me.”

That was a low blow; Tim swats at the fairy, trying not to smile at Jay’s twinkly laugh and failing. What he said, though, that makes it sound like this isn’t the first time Jay has slept here…

“Why were you hanging out here last night anyway?” Tim asks, gaze following the fairy as he darts around the dirt circle Tim was sitting in. Peaks of brown mushrooms begin to sprout through the grass wherever Jay’s feet touch, forming a more definite circle. What were these called again, they had a name… a fairy necklace? Earring? Something to that effect. “Did you change your mind? I said you could stay here if you weren’t well.”

That strikes Jay silent. He descends onto a tall mushroom, the sole red one of the group, white spots providing a foot perch for him. Petite fingers comb through the back of his hair while his shoulders close together.

“See, about that, leaving like I have a place to stay and all?” Jay pauses, face falling. He looks to the ground, unable to meet Tim’s concerned gaze. “I don’t wanna be a burden to you.”

Tim frowns, crawling on his hands and knees to be closer to Jay. 

“I don’t understand.”

Jay huffs and puffs, kicking at the mushroom as he did with Tim’s palm, disrupting spores and sending them floating through the air. They tickle at Tim’s nose, threatening to pull a sneeze from him. He holds a hand over his face, certain that a single sneeze would send Jay rocketing a mile away from him. Wasn’t Tinker Bell meant to be a pouty little pixie in that one movie Jay tried to show him but he fell asleep? What happened to not wanting to fall into stereotypes?

“What’s to understand? I’m a hobo, a hobo fairy,” Jay laments, wings sinking to his sides. “I didn’t wanna make things harder, that’s not my job--”

“I’m not gonna think you’re dirty or anything, I thought we’d worked that out,” Tim stops him. He scoops Jay back into his hands, cradling him in cupped palms. “You can stay in the cabin all you like. It’s the least I can do.”

He doesn’t have time to process what happens-- he blinks, a weight suddenly presses down on his hands, and when he opens his eyes Jay is full size, and rather nude. Suppose the petal he’d been wearing around his waist couldn’t grow with him. Tim makes it a point to keep his eyes on Jay’s face instead of the ribs that jut out below and the hipbones that could likely cut skin. 

“See, no, that’s why I wasn’t going to tell you,” Jay says with no regards to the sudden change in his appearance. He places his hands on his hips, all pout. “I’m not going to be a burden to you. I can easily stay out here. It’s where I’m meant to be.”

It takes all of Tim’s strength to reign himself in from loudly questioning Jay’s intelligence. He shakes his head and gestures back to the cabin, the door wide open and probably allowing a whole mess of small mammals inside. 

“You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And besides, what do you even eat? Dew? Leaves? It’s no big deal. Just get inside, it’s gonna be cold today.”

That ought to have been enough to steer Jay toward the house; he’s shivering already as the morning breeze becomes a winter breeze, simply cold and direct. 

But he’s standing there instead, hugging himself, looking to Tim with wide, almost pained eyes. He blinks a few times before-- almost /shyly/-- dropping his stare. 

“So I’m your friend?”

Tim snorts. He wasn’t thinking when he called Jay that, but, he’s certainly not an enemy or an acquaintance now, is he? He’s seen him at his best and his hairy worst, and kept him from murdering the entire population of Tuscaloosa. So, yeah, he supposes Jay is a friend, if nothing else.

His nonchalant reaction to the situation is unsuitable though-- a glimmering blue tear hits the ground, dropping from Jay’s face and sinking into the soil. A tiny green sprout peeks out from the dirt a second later. Tim has to clear his throat and rearrange his thoughts before taking a tentative step towards Jay, careful not to step on his accidental creation.

“Yeah, Jay, you are my friend,” he says gently, his stomach churning at the awkward switch from his first thoughts. This means a lot to Jay and he isn’t about to fuck it up and disrespect him for it. He wonders if he should hug him, just as Jay embraced his thumb, but his heart stutters at his attempt to lift his arms. Leaving them be, he pulls a smile instead, hoping it’ll get his sincerity across. “You’ve helped me out a lot these last few months. You’re my friend, yeah.”

The fairy returns his smile, though his is considerably more watery. He nods, and shrugs at the same time, like if he’s too certain of Tim’s words Tim will immediately take them back. The man rolls his eyes and nods toward the door again.

“C’mon. Let’s figure out a sleeping situation for you. And maybe some clothes too.”

Jay doesn’t flush lavender at his words, shameless of his skin being bared for the world to see. He rushes past Tim instead, every step overly eager and childlike. 

Maybe Tim should have invited him inside weeks ago. He can’t remember the last time Jay was that excited for something-- if ever. 

\--

The petals of a rose, a sunflower, a baby blue, they’re all soft, smooth to the touch, perfect for rest.

They aren’t much else, though. A single cold breeze blows in, sapping away their color and life, and they turn to brittle grey stalks, wilting to the ground and letting the soil devour the remains. 

Flowers aren’t the sole victim to fall under the wide and cold hands of winter. Every leaf meets the same fate, and for a while, they are everywhere, bonded together in death until suddenly, they’re gone. No explanation, no final hurrahs, simply gone-- and they never make for great beds in the first place. They can get picked up by the wind and Jay will wake up in another town. At least flowers tend to stay attached to the ground.

Any home he has claimed as his own before, he never truly considered it home. Whatever /that/ word means, anyway. A permanent home is a foreign concept to somebody like him, who has only ever known the grey walls of overcrowded shelters and the dying buds of flowers that he knew would be dead the next morning. 

That’s what makes waking up on the ground on top of a massive huddle puddle of Tim’s coats and seeing a ceiling that is familiar to him weird. It was weird letting somebody else compose a bed for him, like it mattered to them how comfortable he was. In the past, his hosts were often more concerned as to whether he was situated enough not to scream and wake up any of the other patrons squatting for the night. 

(“No, no, I’m not taking the fucking mattress, it’s yours!” he’d yelled, and suddenly a red plaid wool-lined jacket was flying in his face as Tim yelled back, “Then I’m making you /something/ you asshole you aren’t sleeping on the floor!”)

And this time, it’s personal care, constant questions fired over Tim’s shoulder and big brown eyes that are simultaneously shiny with hope, nerves, and excitement. Need another coat? Want to have some tea before bed so you go to bed with something warm in you? Sure you don’t want the mattress?

Jay would’ve laughed if he wasn’t under this enormous pressure to be as little trouble as possible. Tim can bark all he likes about there being no problem whatsoever but minds can be changed in as little as a second by the smallest of actions. 

Maybe Tim won’t like how he dresses, that he’s a faggot that’ll eat away at his oh so precious masculinity with the warm colors he wears and the delicate glitter that drips from his fingertips. He’s never said anything about it before, shrugged the matter off when Jay brought up the shelters that refused him… 

A gay man, though, a gay man sleeps in a bed next to other men, and what was it they were doing a few weeks back?

A wolf might not understand that concept, but Tim, he would, he’s the one who jumped away at the sight of Jay beside him. 

(Those scared eyes, wide with uncertainty, looking at him and then anywhere but him--)

He’s not a man.

He doesn’t know what it is he is but as far as the world is concerned, he’s a man. Tim, he might know that Jay isn’t a man, but on the surface, he still appears to be one.

God, fuck, it isn’t even the concept of being kicked out that’s scaring Jay. There will always be flowers, always be leaves he can tuck himself into, shelters he can sweet talk his way inside of. Abandoned homes are of no shortage here in Alabama. If it comes to laying out on the street, so be it, he’s done it before and he’s survived the night winds and the murky minds that come sweeping in with them.

Rolling his head, hearing an errant zipper under him jingle, and looking to the man slumbering a couple feet away, he knows what it is that frightens him, what keeps him from finding the same peaceful rest as Tim. 

(There wasn’t a single question about it. Jay was not sleeping next to Tim that night. The moment Jay stepped into the cabin, bathed in golden candlelight and heat from the clanking old stove, his eyes darted over to the mattress, thinking of the wolf that had pinned him there to keep him from harm.)

(Tim brought the mystery to light soon as the door was closed behind them; ‘so, do you want my bed tonight?’)

(Not ‘do you want to sleep next to me’, no question of whether they’re going to share, it was going to be one or the other.)

(How fast Tim was to dispel any doubt of where Jay was going to be tonight. How quick he was to deflate at the shoulders and turn his back on him when he said he could keep his mattress.)

Something’s pinching in the back of Jay’s neck. Come morning, he’ll be cracking it, trying to stretch the crick out of it, but he doesn’t dare move for the sake of his comfort. These coats jingle and sigh at his every twitch, threatening to wake Tim and reveal that there are blue glittering eyes fixed upon him.

How can he stretch out like that, arms over his head and legs spread-eagled, knees crooked? How does he do that, flip-flop between states of being without a second glance back over his shoulder? It’s as though he transforms at a moment’s notice, like he does under the gaze of the full moon.

It would be easy to hate him for it. Jay lets himself become annoyed at the drop of a hat-- it’s how he has gotten this far in life, baring his bristles and his teeth, demanding his way and /getting/ his way. His way tonight would be to stop fucking thinking about Tim and his obvious lack of interest in laying down beside him, like those nights never happened, no, it was a mistake, please pretend to forget all about them /except Jay can’t/.

Brown eyes rove under those eyelids, caught in a dream Jay cannot see. What is it werewolves see when they fall into a deep slumber? Do they see the meals they’ve caught that evening? The terrified faces of citizens they’ve sunk their teeth into and sapped the humanity from? 

He can’t imagine Tim having such horrific visions, unless they take place in a nightmare. Angry as Jay may be with him, it isn’t fair on Tim to pretend he’s actually awful at the core.

Jay wouldn’t be here if Tim was a bad person. 

For several moments, Jay watches Tim dream. He discovers he’s a sleep-talker, hears him murmuring to an invisible person, or perhaps he is speaking to Jay himself; he thinks he hears his name in the garbled mess that passes from his lips. Or maybe he hopes that’s what he heard, fools himself into the idea that perhaps he is in Tim’s thoughts, unconscious or otherwise.

The man remains relaxed for a good while, his breathing following a deep and calm rhythm. He doesn’t even twitch-- at least, until his muttering comes to an end.

He pulls his limbs against his balled up form, and he rocks, gasping for air-- he can breathe, but not without shuddering in pain. If Jay listens close, he can hear the vague crackle of bones under his flesh.

Ah. Yes. How can he forget his true purpose here? Reigning in the beast, that’s all. 

(“Yeah, Jay, you are my friend.”)

Jay swallows the ball that pushes into his throat, sucking it up and throwing Tim’s hoodie off of himself. It hits the floor, a soft ‘thump’ followed by the metallic yelp of the zipper meeting a solid surface, but Tim doesn’t awaken. He shifts, rolling so that he’s facing the wall away from Jay, but he isn’t waking any time soon.

Thank goodness. Seeing Tim doubled over in tears as consciousness forces him to be privy to the full extent of the pain is too much for Jay to handle right now. 

Moving to stand, Jay plods toward the stove, closing the four feet between it and his makeshift bed. The tea kettle is already set up on top, filled with lake water that Jay fetched before he and Tim retired, just in case either of them grew thirsty in the night. The fairy bends on one knee and takes care in opening the creaky hatch that leads to a pile of chopped up firewood. He touches his fingertip to the wood, willing it to grow hot, the smallest of friction leading to a spark that jumps from log to log.

There are still leftover herbs from the last time Jay put on tea for Tim. They sit in the taped up remains of the mug Jay broke at the beginning of that horrible, horrible night. He stands on tiptoes, reaching for the mug, taking it from the shoddily crafted shelf Tim nailed into the wall. 

Dumping the herbs into the mug that isn’t cracked to kingdom come, he turns away from the heating kettle and observes Tim again, eyes taking in every little twitch and shiver. It’s amazing, what Tim can bear and continue to sleep through: in the time that Jay spent fussing over the tea, his shoulders broadened. They couldn’t have been that wide about a moment ago, but there they are, pushing the covers off of Tim’s upper half and down to his waist.

Jay stares, half in admiration, half in disgust. The human body is amazing and fragile all the same.

Not that he can talk. Stupid tiny bones, stupid thin skin, leaving him vulnerable to the elements. Time can’t defeat him, but a stiff and frigid breeze can bring him to his knees. 

Thank god for Tim. But fuck him, too. And if Jay recalls, he wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for Tim, and…

He’s shivering. Tim can grow and expand and be over six feet tall, claws itching for blood and teeth clicking in hunger. 

But seeing him shake and whimper, he couldn’t appear any less threatening if he tried.

Jay takes the kettle off the stove before it gets the chance to scream Tim awake, and he leaves it off to the side before approaching Tim, taking care to step lightly upon the floor planks that creak. He kneels at Tim’s side, and he takes the blanket, tugging it back over his shoulder. This in turn exposes his feet, and Jay is quick to remedy that with the hoodie he pulled off himself. He isn’t going back to sleep anytime soon, he doesn’t need it.

Tim growls under his breath, though it tapers off into a soft sigh when he ends up on his back, taking in even breaths once again.

Jay sighs as well, and returns to the stove, where he takes the kettle and pours the boiling water over the herbs. He inhales the aroma, tries to force it to wake him up so that he’ll be ready to face the not-quite-a-beast later on. The smog cloud it inflicts on his brain is strong and leaves him dizzy.

He has to sit down on the floor, and there, he waits.

It won’t be long until the sun is peering into the cracks in the walls, and Tim will awaken, screaming and swearing at the creature writhing inside his skin. Jay will be there, he will tend to him, give him his tea and speak to him of nothings. Nothings like how humans have this strange fixation on money and how odd it is that they insist on shaving off hair, and Tim will laugh, he shaves too, does that make him odd? And Jay will answer, he’ll say he is, just to hear him laugh again.

The sweet visions in Jay’s head keep him awake.

Nobody has ever laughed because of him, except Tim.

And suddenly, it’s hard to imagine him in a harsh light, to brush him off for brushing /him/ off and out of his bed.

(Still, the question is there, why?)

(Why, Tim? What did I do?)

(Tim, won’t you tell me?)

(Tim, please don’t look away from me.)

(Tim, /please/.)


	9. Fairy's Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beast is out, he knows what he wants, and he's going to get it.
> 
> For the first time since his birth, it's not blood that he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for implied animal death (in the form of one animal hunting another) and blood.

good morning.

good evening.

either one is correct. the beast opens his eyes, snarls as they burn under the too-close glare of a flame. he strikes out-- destroy, that’s the only way, destroy and find relief.

something clatters to the ground, and he dares to peer at what he has upset. hot wax drips onto the floorboards, and the flame that was there before is gone, snuffed out at the insistent swat of his hand.

his chest swells, and he breathes in deep. this is the safe place. it smells of himself, of the fairy, sweetness and salt, glitter and sweat. 

the sparkling stars that shed from the fairy’s flesh remain on the unoccupied half of the beast’s resting place. there are not as many this time, though. he buries his face in what is left.

that sweet aroma is over his head, all around him. it rolls off of the nest in the middle of the room in waves. the beast crawls on all fours towards the nest, dives inside and paws about; fairy, fairy, are you here?

he is not, his lingering scent trails from here to the door. it stands shut, locking the beast inside… that won’t do. hefting himself to stand, he shuffles to the entrance and clicks his claws against the doorknob, struggling to get a hold on it. 

it does eventually turn once he gets a good grip, not so long after he growls and bites at it-- to no effect, of course. and as the door swings open, his fairy is revealed, a blue orb of light standing in the shadows that the trees paint upon the forest floor.

his fairy kneels against the dirt, pale skin gone red at the knees and his fingertips going a gradual pink. those fingers pat into the grass, separating it blade by blade and searching for something the beast does not know of. what does it matter when the one who cares for him sits and does not hide himself away? his wings are out, giving off a soft flap every so often when the air goes a bit too still-- and every wave sends the fairy’s scent rushing into the beast’s face.

the sweetness is overwhelming.

he wants him.

and so the beast falls back to all fours, claws digging into the dirt and sending it flying out behind him. he pants, hungry, but ignoring the rumbling in his belly in favor of the pounding of his heart. the fairy does not look up until he is close, hears the thud of his hands and feet against the ground and-- suddenly!-- they are both on the ground.

“Tim! I didn’t hear you! Oh, fuck--”

he rubs all over him, takes in as much as he can. this is his, the beast belongs to him and he belongs to the beast. blue sparkles become tangled in his fur, in the fuzz upon his face and his arms. the horrified yelps from the body beneath his quickly turn to cries of delight. 

“Oh, /now/ you’re all over me, of course you are.”

(now, compared to earlier. now, when the beast feels no fear, no hesitance, it just /goes/.)

(no hesitance. rest together. lie together. be together.)

(if the human won’t take that step forward, the beast will.)

sweetness and salt are mixed together, his scent becoming the fairy’s. they lie on the forest floor together, those long fingers winding through the tangled hair upon his head. a heart thrums beneath the beast’s head.

his stomach does not rumble. any other heart, his teeth would be out, hungering for blood.

this heart is good. this heart is his.

“Your hair’s getting long.”

how silly. of course his hair is long. he is a beast, he must have fur, and in these nights that taste of winter chill, he needs it to cover as much skin as possible. what a silly fairy. still, the gentle hands atop his head are nice, so nice to him, petting and soothing.

wait, what is that, what is moving in the dark beyond? he growls, threatens it, come nearer and face his power-- and, no, it is one of the fairy’s many green arms, snaking out of the trees above and joining them here. he barks in greeting, sits up to rub his face against it.

“Go ahead, bite it!”

and he does, like a good dog. the green arm snaps in half, a piece of it fluttering to the forest floor. he pants, eager. did he do good, fairy? 

he did, those hands are back ruffling his hair and the green arm is around his hair, tying it back and he could /melt/, those /hands/, he loves them, he loves his fairy, loves him, loves him…

“There we go. Hair’s out of your eyes. Hunting won’t be so hard now, huh?”

suddenly, his sight is clear. his fairy is in full view now, baring those blunt teeth at him. the beast whines; pathetic as those teeth are, the fairy melts him when he looks at him like this. adoration, praise, he’s a good dog, good good good.

he returns the look, best as he can with these teeth that jut out from his jaw. powerful teeth, powerful, hungry, need to hunt… the hand that was in his hair returns, tucking a strand behind his ear. 

“Speaking of hunting, I can think of a few things you oughta be hunting right now.”

yes! the fairy knows! he is a good fairy, thank you, fairy! his tail is wagging beyond his control, yes, food, go, let us go now. suddenly there are a hundred hearts in this forest, a thousand tiny pounding organs and they all skip a beat in acknowledgment of his presence. 

run, little hearts, run as fast as you can.

the fairy darts away-- out of reach, somewhere between the ground and trees, tempting the beast to give chase. he takes the bait, lunging after him and swatting at the foot that dangles just beyond his reach. it is pulled up further, the fairy giggling all the while at the beast. he pit-pats along the ground, crawling in circles under the fairy. he cannot stay in the air forever.

with the round moon maintaining an observant eye, a pair of monsters rendezvous throughout the sea of trees. feet thud against the ground, hands clap and grasp and grope but they never quite brush the toes that dangle up in the air, teasing. deeper and deeper they fly, and food, food is the last thing on the beast’s mind now, he has to catch the fairy, he must, not for fear of something terrible occurring but because he /must/!

close, so close, the branches stoop lower here and the fairy is forced to move nearer to the ground. he almost has him, threatens with his teeth. the hem of those jeans are in reach and-- no, cruel little fairy! even littler than he was a moment ago! shrunk and tiny and as beautiful as ever, a glowing and gliding sapphire!

a sapphire that is persistently out of reach, and… a den, at the base of a tree trunk, dug deep into the ground but there are hearts there, ten pounding hearts that hide away in the hopes that he will not come sniffing. 

his fairy has brought him to food. taking care of him. loving him. smiling down at him. he is small as the beast’s thumb, but that does not detract from his magnificence. 

he returns the smile, with his many sharp and gleaming teeth.

soon, those teeth are painted a thick and hearty red, and the fairy is stroking him again, letting him lounge across his lap. his stomach aches, stretches from the sudden feast he dug into with ravenous intent.

it does not ache as much as his chest, nor is it as pleasant.

\--

Jay never owned pets. Taking care of himself is a gargantuan effort as it is. Fighting for his life on the street, chasing after blood-minded wolves, and on top of all that he has to remember to eat and drink? 

Fuck it, how would he be able to feed a goldfish? 

Looking after a pet includes bathing it, and since Jay has no experience in being a pet owner, he certainly has no experience in pinning down an animal long enough to get it clean.

That means he’s going into this headfirst, blind and horrified at the notion of bathing a wriggly asshole werewolf. 

“You didn’t have to go running out in the rain,” Jay huffs at said wolf, gripping him by his tearing shirt and dragging him into the cabin. Tug, tug, tug, and all he gets in return are a series of growly barks and mud-coated hands. “You didn’t have to chase that car, probably scaring the shit out of the driver, you didn’t have to go and skid into the mud on the side of the road, /none/ of it was necessary!”

Tim digs his heels into the dirt, his growls reaching a high pitched peak. The rain-softened ground loosens at Jay’s insistent pulling, and Tim slides into their makeshift home, collapsing onto the wooden floor. Jay is quick on his toes, darting around him to slam the door shut before Tim has a chance to escape into the storm. 

“Oh, get it together, you big lug,” Jay hisses when the beast slams himself against the door. The house shakes at the force of his tackling, but it holds steady-- he built it with himself in mind, after all. Tim snarls deep in his throat, dragging his lengthened nails down the door. Thank god he can’t work out the doorknob when he’s this distressed. 

When he’s here with Tim, he’s meant to be taking care of him, right? That includes making certain any mud he’s rolled in doesn’t begin to cake and dry against his skin, that would be the opposite of care and attention. 

Unfortunately, Tim never installed a bathroom into his cabin. Here in the woods, it was a simple matter; gotta go? Find a tree or bush to hide behind and hope a squirrel doesn’t mistake you for a tree. Bathing? The lake is about ten minutes away.

But heading out there is asking for trouble. Tim would slip from his side at a moment’s notice, dashing away in the hopes of finding a rabbit that hasn’t taken shelter, not to mention water plus a thunderstorm is… well, last thing Jay needs is a fried werewolf.

Jay nibbles at his nails, staring off in thought. He feels Tim at his knees, rubbing his soaked face against his legs. Reaching down, he strokes the wolf’s ears. 

“What to do with you?” he asks of him, glancing down at Tim and receiving a big-eyed gaze in return. The man’s tongue lolls out in a doggish smile-- and vanishes instantly when a raindrop plummets from seemingly nowhere and onto his squared nose.

As Tim barks at nothing and writhes on his back, Jay looks above his head and sees dark spots painting the tan ceiling above them. The rain is tapping out a thunderous beat against the roof, and it’s slipping through the cracks. 

The idea creeps up on Jay much like a sneaky spider; he peers down at Tim, who has given up on fighting the raindrop that dared to touch his face. He lounges on his back, limbs sprawled, his shirt torn completely to shreds and laying in pieces all around him.

Thank goodness for that; a collapsed Tim is easier to wrap vines around. A series of green limbs trickle in beneath the crack of the door, forming a cradle at the center of the room for Tim and fitting around him cozily. Once upon a time, he might have sank his teeth into the greenery, but he has come to see the vines as playthings instead. He lazily bats at a single leaf that dangles over his face, tempting him and steering his attention away from the raindrops sliding along the ceiling and joining together to form one great cloud.

Jay grins, taking far too much joy in letting the cloud unleash its heavy burden onto Tim. 

The wolf screeches out, curling into a ball. All of the water settles into the vine cradle, held in place. Not a single crack or crater that would allow the water to drip through is to be found; Jay has created the perfect makeshift bathtub.

“I know, I’m an asshole for daring to keep you clean,” Jay teases when he approaches the tub and is greeted by a displeased growl. Tim looks more human than ever with his pouting face. His doggish nature shines through the moment Jay reaches into the tub to start scrubbing away the accumulated mud-- Tim shakes, sending a wave of water over the side and all over Jay’s front. 

So that’s how it’s going to be. Not that Jay expected anything more but it would have been nice to go the rest of the night without being pelted by /more/ rainwater. 

“You’re a bad dog,” Jay scolds, sending a couple more vines to pin down Tim’s arms down. He scratches and combs into Tim’s fur, going for his belly to get at the majority of the mud. The water darkens the harder Jay scratches, a sight that encourages him to run his hands through Tim’s long hair. “Why would you stick your head in the fucking mud? There’s no reason for it. None. Bad dog.”

Unbelievably, Tim has a response for that, and it comes in the form of him sticking out his tongue like a second grader. It’s intentional, entirely so, unlike the instances where it happens to loll out of his mouth because he can’t seem to contain his puppy-like joy. 

“That’s sweet,” Jay sighs. He stands on his tiptoes, reaching to take Tim’s head in his hands. Lovingly encircling his face, he slowly lowers him down-- and shoves his head into the water, submerging him completely.

The wolf whimpers and cries in protest, limbs flailing out until Jay brings him back up less than a second later. His hair hangs limp against his skull, and the fuzz on his face drips, appearing twice as thick now. Tim’s youth can’t help shining brightest when he’s pouting like this. Jay would call him adorable if he didn’t want to risk an irritable bite to the hand.

“Gonna behave?” 

Tim’s tongue slips out between his lips again. He leans away, out of Jay’s reach. 

“Oh come on, I’m not gonna do it again-- I promise,” Jay insists, tottering around on his toes. Tim scoots to the far end of the tub, growling under his breath. Narrowing his eyes, Jay hops from the floor, wings beating fast. He stretches out his arms, comes close to Tim’s face, and, and there are claws wrapping around his wrists, he’s small and light and easy to drag, and suddenly he’s tugged from the air.

Splash. Muddy water in his ears, in his eyes, his mouth. Bitter, metallic in his mouth, utterly disgusting. He sputters and chokes, coughing out the drops that make their way down his throat. The hands that were clutching his wrists a moment earlier are now around his chest, pinning him against the furry figure that refuses to let him go no matter how much he curses and hits out. 

“Tim! You’re getting my clothes wet! What--”

The beast yowls his delight in short bursts. It resembles /laughter/, he’s laughing at Jay’s outrage, like the asshole he is when his humanity becomes compromised. 

(Except, Jay could summon several more plants to fight Tim off if he wanted to. The vine-tub would collapse and water would splatter onto the floor, but that wouldn’t matter to Jay. He could deal with it if this actually bothered him.)

(He’s laughing now, he’s still swearing to Hell and back at Tim but he’s laughing through it, chest pushing against the arms that are embracing him-- yes, embracing, hugging, /holding/, Tim is holding him.)

(Not once in his life has Jay felt the warmth of a beating heart to his back and gentle arms wrapped around his own wildly pounding chest. Yet these days he seems to constantly end up in such a position with Tim.)

A wet nose is pressing into the crook of his neck, inhaling deep. Ice is coating Jay’s insides, creeping into his nerves and freezing him, but Tim’s heat is fighting back, comforting him without words. He melts, falls still in his embrace and leans his head back against Tim’s shoulder.

“Why are you doing this?” Jay asks, too softly for Tim to hear, surely, but he hears Tim growl deep in his chest, and a hot mouth burrows into the spot of his neck that Tim’s nose found moments before. Not to bite, not to lick.

Jay would mistake it for a kiss if he didn’t know better. 

(That’s impossible.)

He closes his eyes, leaning into Tim, completely limp and vulnerable and pliable. 

The beast clings tighter to him, and his mouth presses firmer into bare skin.

(He isn’t cold anymore.)


	10. Use Your Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They awaken next to each other, again. This time, the beast doesn't chase the fairy from his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for transformation based body horror.

Tim could do with less pain in his day to day life. Having his body morph and grow out of control is enough to deal with-- sitting conscious while it breaks itself apart again so that he can be something closer to human? No thanks.

Yet here he lies, doing just that, his back stiff from sprawling on the bare floor all night long. 

He woke sometime before his teeth began shrinking back into his gums. His shoulders are inching back together right now, the sounds of his insides cracking keeping him awake. Which is strange in itself, that he should be near unconsciousness and would be touching it, were his bones quieter. 

But the body on top of his is soothing, it’s warm and small and he can squeeze it like a teddy if the burning of his muscles becomes too much to bear. 

He wonders how Jay would feel if he knew he was being treated like a comfort blanket.

Except, he must know-- out of the corner of one hazy eye (his vision shivers at his attempts to focus, but he forces it, squints until Jay is clear before him), he sees Jay’s own eyes are open, peering up at him from under fluttering eyelashes. He buries his face in Tim’s chest, like he knows he’s been caught awake. Too late now.

“When did you fall asleep?” Tim asks, twisting Jay’s mental arm into actually acknowledging him. The fairy groans under his breath, shifting against him, which, actually, is kind of dangerous to do, he’s in his boxers and nothing else and, fuck. Tim lifts his hand-- his claws have gone down, finally-- pushes Jay off, and pins him to his side before he can get the wrong message, remedying the problem for the time being.

Jay buries his face in his arm, where the stretch marks are etched deepest from muscles shrinking down in a matter of seconds. He seems to count the seconds before he peers up at Tim, and hides away again when he sees that he’s being watched.

“…After you fell asleep in the water,” Jay says at last. He stays still, looking at some point past Tim’s form, not at the wall but somewhere Tim can’t see. “I had the vines drain out the water and lay us down. I didn’t want to wake you by moving.” Jay pauses, blinking fast. His nails carve into Tim’s arm, drawing out a series of tiny moons. “You seemed happy.”

He was. His heart was swelling in his chest, his stomach was full of fluttering creatures, it was confusing and scary to him but the beast stifled that part of him, refused to give him the chance to flinch away as he did before.

Tim raises his arm and brings it around to rest on Jay’s shoulder. 

The shivers of the body pressing into his ribcage increase in intensity, tenfold. 

“Were you happy, too?”

(There is a drummer in his throat and they’re following the beat of his frantic heart. He remembers shaking Jay off before, flinching at the sight of him so close, but he can’t make that same mistake again when the chance is right /there/. He has no idea if they’ll ‘accidentally’ end up falling asleep together again.)

(It’s easiest for him to speak when they are fresh from dreams, vulnerable and too open to each other, too groggy to put up any false fronts. He can’t miss this. Can’t make the same mistake as last time.)

(If he does, the wolf just might tear him a new one. He can feel the rumbling at the back of his mind, the remaining trickles of beastly instincts prodding at him for attention.)

Jay doesn’t answer him. Not straightaway.

When he does, he almost believes he imagined his voice, conjured it up with his mind because of how much he needs to hear him say yes.

But he does, he does say yes, murmurs it into his arm, forms the word with his lips against his skin and Tim /feels/ him speak.

“Why?”

Tim wouldn’t have believed that he himself spoke that single word aloud if he hadn’t felt it in his chest, reverberating through a gravel-filled throat. Jay is still shaking against him, shedding his glitter onto the floor. It’ll be clinging to Tim’s skin later, a constant reminder of what took place here.

“Why, Jay?” Tim urges after their silent moment stretches itself too thin. The shaking intensifies while he takes in a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering puff against Tim’s shoulder. He hides his face there, eyes closing. Tim sees this in his peripherals, heart thudding far too hard for proper movement.

“Because I like being with you. I love it. You mean a lot to me, Tim.”

Each word is a struggle but they’re out there, they’re over their heads and they have to accept that they were spoken. And Tim more than accepts them, he embraces them, lets the ball of tension in his chest drop away so that he can breathe. 

He turns that embrace on Jay, forcing his trembling arms to work as arms ought to and tugging Jay flush against his chest. 

“I think it’s mutual.”

Jay is quiet, and for a split second Tim worries that he didn’t hear him or, worse, that’s not what he wanted to hear-- until a sob bubbles out of him and he slips his arms out from under Tim’s. He loops them around his neck, pressing his face into the space leftover.

“Why did you act like… like you did?” Jay sputters, his voice sending vibrations up Tim’s throat. It tickles, but he can’t do anything about it, can’t bring himself to push Jay back. “If you fucking like me so much, why would you sleep with me one night and then go out of your goddamn way to put me in the middle of the floor like I’m diseased?!”

“Y-you’re kind of…”

No. Tim swallows his accusations of overdramatic behavior in favor of staying on Jay’s good side. Having him this close with the vines collapsed beneath their bodies and getting him angry sounds like the worst idea this side of Alabama. 

“It’s hard to think straight when you’ve got a crush, I guess,” Tim tries, soothing the fairy with a gentle hand weaving through his mussed hair. He hears Jay hiccup, or maybe it’s a laugh, he can’t place it. “Among other things, of course.”

“Like /what/?” Jay whines in his ear. The nook between Tim’s neck and shoulder is damp now. He can only imagine what the glittering blue puddle gathering there looks like. The hand he has in Jay’s hair travels to his back, stroking up and down.

“...Well, think about it, if you didn’t feel the same, then you might leave because who wants to deal with that weird bullshit?” Tim explains best as he can. He laughs to himself, then bites it back, tries to shove the nervous tight ball down his throat. “Bad enough that I’m trying to look after myself as a wolf, running out into town and all. I’d be losing my friend at the same time, if you’ll, uh, excuse the sappy crap.”

Goddammit, excused or otherwise, those words scrape like knives against his chest as he pushes them out. He hides his nose in Jay’s hair, face hot. Jay’s fingernails find the scruff of his neck and scrape into his skin. If it were anyone else, he would shove them away. 

“I guess the wolf didn’t care,” Tim mumbles into the soft strands that tickle his face. He nuzzles in deeper, inhales the sweetness that he becomes addicted to under the influence of the round moon. “When I’m like that, I just, take what I want. And I wanted you.”

Jay is hiccupping again, or he’s laughing, one or the other; Tim pats his back, shushing him. The fairy wriggles his head out from the spot he claimed as his, tilting it back to meet Tim’s gaze. There are trails of blue trailing from his eyes, streaking his cheeks. Wiping them away does nothing but create a bigger mess, smearing violet stains into Jay’s skin and setting blue tints into the side of Tim’s thumb.

“You’re a fucking jerk and I hate you for messing with me like that,” Jay manages out before a shaking sob bursts from his chest. It moves through his entire body, like a tidal wave he can’t fight back against. “But, this is what I think it is, right? This is…?”

His thin fingers come to stroke down Tim’s front, down his heart. 

The urge to touch his hand, a powerful little thing that defies all expectations, is strong. 

He lets himself take it, fold his thicker fingers around the spritely ones. 

“I gotta admit, it’s pretty new to me, so I don’t really… get it,” Tim says, peering into Jay’s face. He sees hope and adoration and so much he couldn’t hope to understand now.

(If Jay stays, maybe he’ll begin to grasp just what Jay is all about, what goes on inside of him. The majesty of the magic within.)

“That’s okay,” Jay whispers, hands shivering beneath Tim’s warm palms. He looks down at their hands, entwined together, like it’s too hard to look back at Tim. “It’s new to me. I-- shit, this’ll sound really stupid.” He ducks his head, only coming back up at the gentle urging from the hand on the nape of his neck. “I never thought I’d get close enough with a, wow, uh, a /human/ to be… friends, let alone, um, uh--”

“Get a crush,” Tim finishes for him. Jay nods, his face still shading over with purple. It’s easier to say crush, to use such a simple and small word more suitable for lovesick children who can’t keep their hormones to themselves. 

Even now, they’re still dancing around words. 

But it’s enough, it’s enough, for once Tim settles for ‘enough’ and is okay with it, because ‘enough’ is better than nothing. He’s holding Jay’s hand, petting him and stroking him and covering himself in the glitter that falls from his skin like shedding fur.

It’s better than where he was the other night, hiding away from him, alone on the mattress.

And that’s a step forward.

One amazing step forward.


	11. First Date, First Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay goes on and asks the big question: does Tim wish to be seen in public with him in a manner that could be construed as romantic? 
> 
> The real question is, how much can he work himself up over the idea until he explodes into a mass of fairy glitter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for drinking, drunken behavior, and references to classism/some internalized classism on Jay's part.

Grocery stores are Jay’s worst fucking enemy.

In the past, he’s never given much of a damn about showering. He does get around to it, living in one’s own filthy skin can get to be too much after a certain point. It’s not his first priority, though-- he needs to focus on food and water and shelter. Showering comes when he finds a good bar of soap he can slip into his back pocket while nobody is looking and a hose that some sap left outside attached to his home. 

Going into any store, let alone one for food and staples of the average middle class household and looking like a ball of grease, is bound to earn some looks that are dirtier than Jay himself. He has as much right to be there buying food as they do, but he supposes they expect the poor people of the city are meant to conjure food up out of the air while staying out of sight and out of mind.

(Sometimes, Jay will slip into his most raggedy clothes before going into Wal-Mart or whatever other ugly store he’s decided to grace his presence with that day. Just to piss them all off more.)

(Go hard or go home, that’s all he has at times like those.)

Today, he scrubbed up before he came in, for the sake of looking presentable-- not for these nameless bastards, but for Tim. 

He wandered from Tim’s empty cabin and made his way over to the lake nearby, the sun warming the water to a bearable temperature. His splashing around scared off the wildlife, but it was for a good cause. His skin is shining and the aroma of the woods is clinging to his body… which, unfortunately, forces him to stick out like a sore green thumb among the urbanites wandering the shop. 

Lake water can only go so far when it comes to cleaning one’s hair, though. Jay keeps his head down, wanting nothing more than to rip this garish red baseball cap off his head. He found it in the pile of clothing Tim left behind at the cabin, and it doesn’t fit onto his skull even a little bit but he’d rather pretend to be a Red Sox fan than look unkempt in front of Tim.

All of this effort will go to waste if Jay happened to walk in on a day that Tim isn’t working. That thought sticks to the back of Jay’s mind like an itchy burr that won’t let go of his sock. He stocks items and works the back, which means Jay might have to sneak around and he isn’t very good at that, considering he sparkles and leaves behind trails of glitter for the police to follow.

Drifting about the spotless aisles of junk food and dairy will eventually start to look strange on the security cameras. What else can he do with himself, though? Shopping? No, no money, and he can’t touch anything without getting dirty looks… how, how can he slip through those huge black doors back by the deli department without having to shrink down and lose his clothing? Tim is inside the back of the store /somewhere/, if he’s even here, and--

“Tim, Jeremy, Brian, we’ve got a delivery.”

And now he’ll be outside, where he saw those bulky white trucks upon strolling into the huge parking lot. Jay raises his head, looking up to the speakers in the ceiling and grinning wide. He whispers his thanks to the deciders of fate and coincidence before darting past a parent and their children. They clutch the little ones closer to their side, glaring after him and his too big jeans. 

He hops the chain dangling over a closed cashier lane, ignoring the cashier in the next lane over who yells after his retreating back. The glass doors part to let him back out, past a stream of old ladies pushing blue carts that look too large for their shaky arms to handle. 

Jay ducks under the extended red roof of the store, eyeing the rain that’s been falling since he made his way out to town. Water sits heavy on his borrowed jacket and jeans, sagging them further against his skinny form. With nature working against his efforts to look even a little okay, coming out to see Tim might not be a good idea.

But then he spots him, running out from a pair of metal doors that stand at the other end of the building. He’s laughing, with two other boys his age trotting out behind him hooting about the inclement weather and some joking about wet t-shirt contests, whatever. All Jay sees is Tim, smiling and stooping over at the trucks to open their back compartment, what a lovely angle he’s bent at in his fitted workpants-- no, no, he’s here for words, not for ogling.

Jay keeps his head down, approaching slowly, hands in his pockets and head bowed. He eyes the pair of stranger boys with Tim, tries to decipher whether they’re the type to laugh him away because his skin glitters and his hair is in need of a proper wash. They’re loud and in a pack, which is rarely a good sign in Jay’s experience, but Tim is laughing with them and that’s encouraging in itself.

“Hey there,” he greets in a raised and cracking voice. Shit. He swallows the nervous itch in his throat, prays that none of the men heard that. All eyes fall on Jay, boxes and crates forgotten in favor of this strange visitor who would rather talk to the backroom employees than shop. 

Tim stands at the foot of the truck, head twisted around and forgetting to come down from standing on his toes to reach a high up box. He has never looked more ridiculous and Jay has never wanted than he does now to kick him, who does he think he is, being… sweet. 

“…Can I talk to Tim, guys?” he asks, maintaining a steady tone this time. Both boys look to each other, their too perfect hair refusing to fall out of place even in this weather. They shrug and hop up into the truck, vanishing to the back and leaving Tim alone with Jay.

He finally comes down from his toes, tottering over his feet and catching himself with his back to the truck. The rain is only becoming heavier, striking down against the truck’s top and creating a horrible racket.

“Uh, let’s-- roof, under the roof,” Tim stammers out, nodding his head over at the spot Jay just came from. He follows his suggestion, darting back to the safety of dry land. Tim trails after him, dragging his feet and staring at Jay the entire time. Upon joining him, he takes the opportunity to look Jay over, beckoning a stream of flustered purple up to Jay’s face. “Those clothes look very familiar.”

“I wanted to try to look nice, and all mine were dirty,” Jay lies, or at least, half-lies. He did want to look nice for Tim today. “I didn’t mean to disturb you and your friends.”

“Oh, no, they’re not really, uh, friends, I just get along with Brian and Jer better than the other stockers, but, that’s-- that’s not important,” Tim waves the whole thing off. He frowns at Jay, brow pinching together. “How did you know I’d be working today?”

“I didn’t,” Jay admits, head shrinking against his body. He shrugs, looking to the ground where a stray soda can lays. His foot kicks out at it on instinct, sending it clattering into the parking lot. “I just hoped you would be so I could talk to you.”

All the confusion written on Tim’s face vanishes, replaced by wide eyes that rove over Jay’s a second time. His hands come to rest upon Jay’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. 

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“O-oh-- no, nothing’s going on, Tim, calm down, I should’ve probably, uh, said that from the get-go,” Jay says with an underlying apology. He doesn’t remove Tim’s hands, though. It’s been a couple days since he’s felt them on him and, in his opinion, that’s a couple days too many. “I wanted to ask you something was all.”

The confusion is back, and Tim’s arms are crossed on his chest now. Brian and Jeremy are poking around at the front of the truck, looking back at him and Jay with suspicious eyes. Alright, better speed this up before Tim is missed, Jay isn’t about to get him fired.

“This is so stupid, I just wanna ask you if you, uh,” Jay trips and stumbles, thinks of those movies he snuck into in the past with the intentions of making the long cold day roll by faster. They made this seem fucking easy, bring chocolate and a good smile and it’s done but he has neither of those things, just himself. And that’s not much. Fuck. “Do you wanna go eat food? Romantically, I mean. Like people in a relationship do, or, or something? That is what they do. Right?”

Any tension in Tim’s stance is suddenly gone. He blinks a few times, opening his mouth and shutting it a second later. Jay, meanwhile, has no choice but to squirm in his own discomfort and fucked-uppedness, great, just great, why does he even try? He’s wearing a goddamn electric cord as a belt, and he’s a dripping mess. Tim deserves better than this and he should go back to the cabin and sleep for about ten years.

“…Are you trying to ask me out?” Tim asks eventually, incredulous. Jay nods once, letting his chin remain on his chest so that he doesn’t have to look Tim straight on. He hears Tim sigh, and a gentle hand comes back to his shoulder, squeezing him. “For a first try, that wasn’t too bad. Especially when you think about how that’s the first time someone’s asked me out.”

Jay ought to have whiplash for how fast he lifted his head up. He looks Tim over, sees his strong arms, how he pushes his damp hair out of his eyes only for it to fall back over them, his calm half-grin. 

“How the fuck am I the first?”

“The first that I’m /aware/ of, then!”

“No way I’m the first,” Jay insists, ignoring Tim’s huffy retort. He deflates, letting himself breathe now that the words are out in the open. Silence briefly comes between the two of them, though Jay can feel that there is so much Tim wants to say, sees it in his flushed cheeks and his hesitating smile. “…That is what people who like each other’s company do, right? They go eat food under romantic conditions?”

Tim’s laugh tickles something inside Jay’s chest. He tucks his hands into his pockets and ducks his head again, hiding his grin in this oversized maroon sweater. It’s a sound he’ll never grow weary of, especially when he’s the cause of it.

“Yeah, Jay. They do,” Tim confirms before reaching behind himself. He takes his phone out from his back pockets and switches it on, tapping at the screen. “There. That’s a reminder to myself to email you the place we’ll go to tonight.”

Jay pales. Email. That means computers, which means library.

He steadies himself in less than a second-- this is Tim. He’ll suffer the evil librarian beast for the sake of /his/ beast. Clearing his throat, he straightens up and paints on a smile, pretends this is okay. 

“Then I’ll… see you tonight?” Jay tiptoes back, wraps his arms around himself, wants the arms to be Tim’s-- and they are, suddenly they are and he’s frozen in place, pulse thudding in his brain. Brian and Jer aren’t looking their way, too far back in the truck. Jay takes advantage, pushes his face into Tim’s shoulder, breathes in the musk of hard labor and, fuck, he still smells of the beast.

The embrace lasts for a sliver of a second, ending long before Jay is ready to let go, but Tim has to work. He rushes away, returns to the truck but spares Jay one last glance over the shoulder, a half-smile that’s a silent laugh about what they can get away with behind the backs of others.

Jay scurries off fast as he can, so that Tim’s friends don’t question his continued presence. The library is a good half hour away, and that’s by bus and he doubts any bus driver around here is going to be very eager to spare him a free ride. But that’s alright, he has all afternoon, he has his evening to look forward to, not much else matters.

Hell, any other time he’d be dreading walking through those heavy glass double doors into the library and feeling the weight of every eye fall upon him. Now, though, all he can do is look down at himself, his shoes squishing with each step taken and his clothing hanging onto his skin, more water than fabric, and /laugh/.

What’s it matter if they’ll be angry with him? They hate him already, and the one person who matters looked at him and smiled, didn’t even flinch away when he drew him into his embrace.

If these rain-sodden jeans weren’t weighing him down, Jay would be skipping the whole way to the library. 

\--

Dates. They’re supposed to make people happy. Two individuals-- or, hm, more, Tim doesn’t judge-- go out together with the sole purpose of enjoying one another’s company while experiencing something that’s already nice to be a part of. Eating at a restaurant is always great, no one has to cook and the food is expected to be of good quality, and doing that with someone you love? Awesome. Movies? You have a receptive earpiece you can play the role of critic to.

So why the fuck is Tim bordering on nausea sitting in this bar waiting for Jay to show up?

He knows that Jay is on his way; he’s on his phone, re-reading the email the fairy sent about an hour ago. ‘Sounds nice, give me a bit to get there’, that’s all, nothing special to say, yet he thinks this may be his forty eighth time looking over these words.

Once he made it back to his apartment, he spent way too long settling on a place to go. Working as a back door drone for a chain grocery store means he can’t afford too many of the special places around town. Jay deserves better than the trashy Italian-but-doesn’t-actually-serve-much-Italian-food place that opened down the street. 

Then again, Jay deserves better than this bar, but he didn’t object to the idea when he got back to Tim. Not much food to be had here unless one is looking to die of food poisoning-- alcohol, though, lots of alcohol. And pretty lights.

Funny, it’s the lighting that made Tim think Jay may enjoy himself here. He lifts his head and lets the spotlights affixed to the smooth wooden shelf tops burn into his vision. Deep red, blue, purple, green, toned down so that they can give off a sense of warmth, no reason for them to be there, just as there is no reason for a person to be throwing harmful chemicals back in rapid succession. 

The beer he’s nursing is nearing the bottom of the glass when he hears the faint Christmas-flavored jingle of the front door creaking open. Tim nearly falls from his stool, whirling it around so that he may squint past the shadows of this huge single room.

Jay stands at the front, hands shoved down his pockets and chin pulled to his chest. The moment he lays eyes upon him, Tim wishes he had picked somewhere else-- every body in the booths against the walls is facing the fairy now, staring him down. It’s hard /not/ to stare, with the faint blue glow that emanates off of Jay’s form. When he and Jay are alone, Tim tends to block it out, it’s just /there/. For anyone else, it’s the prettiest sore thumb they’ve ever seen sticking out of a crowd.

“Hey!” Tim shouts, bouncing in his seat and waving to get Jay’s attention. The fairy perks up, hands coming up to clutch his heavy jacket closer to his body. When he realizes who’s calling for him, he lights up-- quite literally, the aura surrounding him flickering brighter for a second before he looks around himself and realizes what he’s doing. He lifts his hood and covers his head up, stifling his glow. Too late for that; every eye in the bar follows him as he skips up to the bar. 

Once Jay has swung himself up onto the whirling stool beside Tim’s, he makes a point of pressing his palm flat against the fairy’s back, deterring him from facing the rest of the patrons here. There. Now it’s just them.

Just how it should be.

“Hope your trip was an eventless one,” Tim says, feeling the chill that lingers upon Jay’s coat. He resists going for his hands and warming them between his own. Instead, he beckons over the bartender, a portly person with an admirable mustache and short silver hair.

“It was, just kind of cold. Do they sell hot chocolate or something like that here?” Jay asks while looking between the bartender and Tim. The silence that falls between the three of them is painful and sticks into every one of Tim’s anxious nerves. 

He provides the confused bartender with an apologetic grimace before ordering a rum and coke for both himself and Jay. He tries not to let the relief show when they’re left on their own, the bartender turning away and moving to the other end of the bar to prepare their drinks.

“What? What was that all about?” Jay asks with such genuine curiosity that Tim has to put his head in his hands. If he had any doubt that Jay wasn’t human before this, it’s gone now. 

“It’s a bar, you drink here,” Tim explains as best as he can without losing his cool and laughing Jay away. He’s already wearing such an affronted pout, it wouldn’t be right to tease him further.

“Right! Drinking, like drinking hot chocolate,” Jay insists before Tim loses it and has to put his head down on the top of the bar. “What?!”

“Jesus Christ,” Tim wheezes between pained giggles. “No-- listen, Jay, no, calm down, there’s a difference, it’s okay, just…”

“Two rum and cokes for the lovely couple.”

Both Tim and Jay perk up. That, he knows Jay understands, there’s no mistaking what the playful grin from the bartender means. Tim opens his mouth, then shuts it before shaking his head and shoving his hand down his jean pockets. He pushes his cash toward the bartender, way more than necessary, but it does seem to buy the ‘lovely couple’ some alone time. The cash is taken, stuffed down a dark stained apron pocket, and then he and Jay are on their own again.

“I thought you knew what a gay bar was,” Tim whispers to him, inching in close so that the biker-looking bunch in the booth nearby can’t pick up on his words. “You said people accuse you of being at them all the time.”

“They do!” Jay hisses back in a stage-whisper. Tim flinches, feeling more eyes on his back than before, but either Jay doesn’t detect them or he doesn’t give a shit. “People talk about drinking there and I thought we came here to drink anything we wanted or something.”

Oh, god. This was a mistake. What was he thinking, bringing a thin-boned fairy here, who’s never had a drop of alcohol in his life and he probably hasn’t eaten a single bite since he woke to the rising sun this morning. Tim has to laugh again, this time at himself and his stupidity. 

“Okay, we should head back out and maybe find somewhere better, this clearly isn’t-- don’t!”

Too late. Jay is sipping at his glass, looking thoughtful with the red straw between his lips. He puts down the drink after a second, stares off into space, and hums to himself before shrugging and taking another sip.

“Reminds me of the old berries I’d find in summer.”

Old berries. Fermented berries. /He’s already had this before/. He just didn’t know it.

Tim clutches his chest, wondering if he’s going to have a heart attack. The anxiety from this date alone is trying to kill him and if Jay wasn’t kicking his feet against the stool like a gleeful little child, he’d let it. 

“You’re something else, Jay,” he mutters before throwing it all to the wind and taking his glass, tossing its contents back in a single gulp.

Before long, they’re deep into their third drinks, chattering of nothing and everything-- “What do you mean this isn’t just a soda with berries in it?” “I mean, well, it is, but, it isn’t…”

Under these lights, the glitter that coats Jay’s skin takes on their hue. He goes red, to green, to violet, and back to blue in seconds, as he sways back and forth in his seat. Tim fears for him, thinking that he’ll upend and be flat on his back upon the floor, making friends with the dust mites. Jay maintains his balance, though, peering up into the spotlights with squinting eyes and a delirious smile.

“I think I like bars, Tim, they sell nice things,” he utters while stroking a finger around the rim of his glass. The bartender passes by, topping him off without a word, and he immediately brings it to his lips, eyes closing with contentment.

Tim forces himself not to stare at the bobbing of his throat, the way his tongue darts out to catch the amber drop that escapes his mouth. 

“If you didn’t know what bars were before, then I can’t imagine what else you haven’t figured out yet,” he thinks aloud, focusing on that instead. He pictures Jay in a regular home, navigating the strange contraptions of the average household. Televisions, microwaves, washing machines… “It’s just, it’s /hilarious/ to me, how you can apparently handle a computer, but you had no idea what bars are really about.”

“When you sit in a library long enough, you get curious about what those beeping shiny boxes are all about,” Jay nods, holding a wise finger to the air. “After you get yelled out ten times in a row for accidentally getting all the computers infected with malware, you come back and properly learn how to handle the World Wide Web. Then you type a million questions into Google, like, ‘why do people get angry when I take food from the store but not books from the library’, and you eventually learn a few things.”

“I suppose you never felt the need to learn about bars, then,” Tim teases, just before ducking away from the halfhearted swat Jay aims at his head. 

“I knew that you came here to get something to drink, that’s /it/,” the fairy shoots back. His shoulders rock, hiccups wracking his body and threatening to push him off his perch. “There were more important things to research, like why werewolves are such jerks!”

He laughs to himself over his attempt at a joke before flopping over into Tim’s lap. The man freezes up, staring at the pile of exhausted fairy on his thighs. He glances around, checking for any curious eyes that may have fallen upon them. Everybody seems to have forgotten that there is a glowing creature sitting in the room with them getting wasted off his ass. Thank god.

Pressing a finger to Jay’s throat, he lets out a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding in when he locates a fluttering pulse. He reaches once more into his pockets and draws out a twenty, slapping it down on the bar before spinning away. With both hands under Jay’s shoulders, he maneuvers him to lean against his body, somewhat balanced upon his own two feet but still seconds from tottering over.

“I’ve got you,” he assures Jay when he begins to shiver. His shaking intensifies when he leads the way over to the exit, where a blast of winter air assaults the pair of them. “Don’t worry. Just-- hang onto me, okay?”

Jay doesn’t speak a word, but he follows instructions well. He grabs onto Tim’s arm, clinging to him as a koala would. If he were any heavier, they would both be on the asphalt now. Luck continues to remain on their side-- Tim picked this place out with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be in any state to drive by the end of the evening. They only need to head down this street, and turn the corner, then they’ll be in his neighborhood.

‘Only’ isn’t the right word to be using when he has to keep Jay standing and moving, though. He fights him at each step, murmuring of the pretty lights above them and that they’re as magnificent as the stars back in the forest.

“Humans are amazing, crafting such things when the stars alone aren’t enough to light the way home,” he babbles when Tim asks him to be quiet. Okay, he might have told him to shut up, but he whispered it in the gentlest tone he could manage, so that ought to count for something. 

Hobbling onto the concrete sidewalk outside his apartment, Tim takes the opportunity to go digging in his pockets for his keys. He places Jay against one of the streetlamps he loves so much, letting him rub his face into the metal pole and giggle to himself. It would be cute if there weren’t a couple across the road watching.

“He’s not from around here,” Tim calls out to them in explanation. They frown, clearly not in the mood for his lies. How obvious is it that he isn’t faring much better? He supposes it’s fairly obvious, seeing as he’s chasing his keys and begging with them out loud. “No, no, don’t fall in the sewer, you don’t go there… got ya. Come here, Jay.”

The fairy complies, tottering toward Tim and throwing his full weight around his neck. Shit. He grabs onto the streetlight with both hands, finding his balance and standing still until he is absolutely certain that his feet are flat on the ground.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Tim snaps, receiving nothing more than a tired hum in response. He lugs Jay up the front steps, feels his teeth in the back of his neck-- okay, not so bad, but not the time for it. The door swings open, permitting him inside the familiar hall of yellowed wallpaper and green shag carpeting. 

Alright, to the left-- no, move left, Jay, stop swinging around-- and his apartment is there, 1102, towards the end of the hallway. He fights his keys again, swearing about twenty times until he hears the telltale click and makes his way inside, where he forgot to leave a light on for himself. Sober Tim is a wildly inconsiderate person when it comes to Drunk Tim’s needs.

“This isn’t the cabin,” Jay moans into his ear before burying his teeth into the collar of his nice button-up shirt. He wore this with Jay in mind, hoping to look /somewhat/ put together, and now here they are, stumbling over books and old bills to get to the living room. 

“Why would I go back to the cabin?” Tim asks with a huff before crouching down. Jay goes with him, letting his legs be hefted up so they can wrap around Tim’s waist from behind. There, easier than dragging him. “I can’t drive right now.”

“I can fly us! Except, no, maybe, maybe no, you’re kinda heavy but I love it, you’re warm and big and a bit soft, I love you,” Jay babbles out as he’s deposited onto the living room couch, where he fits perfectly between the arms. He sinks into the cushions, eyes lidding over already. 

Jay will get some sleep there, at least, with the couch being somewhat angled so that the seven o’ clock train doesn’t rattle it. Tim will likely be in tears the next morning as the train rushes by his bedroom and shakes his hangover into a full on migraine.

At least he’ll walk out here to find Jay curled into a ball, rolled onto his stomach with his face half hidden in the couch’s throw pillows. He’s already drifting toward sleep, breathing in deep and humming contently. Tim reaches over him, tugging down the throw blanket and letting it settle on top of his thin form. The fairy snuffles to himself and hugs the pillow tighter, muttering something that sounds like a thank you.

Seeing him sprawled out, getting glitter everywhere and relaxing, like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong, Tim almost lets himself think that the trouble of getting him here was worth it.

Almost. 

He decides Jay will be the one making breakfast in the morning. If only to make up for being a sloppy whiny drunk.

It isn’t until Tim is between the covers and tucking them up to his chin that he realizes what Jay said before passing out.

He convinces himself he imagined those all too serious words so he can get to sleep and stop rolling them over in his head over and over again. 

(His neck still stings. But in the most pleasant way possible.)


	12. First Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being shaken awake by the world's noisiest and biggest metal creature? Not Jay's ideal way of being dragged back to consciousness.  
> Being cooked breakfast by his wolf? Much more preferable.  
> Seeing that his wolf isn't as hidden from the world as he previously believed? Well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of alcohol and hunting. Also content warning for food and such.

Cozy, snug, warm, smooth, the musk Jay has become accustomed to pressed into his face. 

It would be a perfect spot to sleep, if the world wasn’t suddenly shaking and rocking him around. But, fuck, it’s not horrible enough to shake him out of the couch and send him searching for the source of the chaos. Could it be an earthquake? Here? In this part of the country where tornadoes are nature’s favored tool of mayhem?

No, though, it can’t be, Jay can hear a faint whistle, reminds him of the squeal of the tea kettle back in the cabin. The scream is far off, but his ears pick up on it and latch onto the sound, to the point where it’s all he can hear. Filling his head, he has to clamp his hands over his ears, taking in deep forceful breaths. A scream scrapes at the top of his chest, urging him to let loose and fight back against the howling creature but he only curls up tighter, waits for his skull to split straight down the middle…

“Ah. Guess my theory was wrong then.”

Jay’s eyes snap open.

Tim stands over him, sans a shirt and pants, just a pair of bat-patterned boxers. Odd, how the bats are surrounded by yellow ovals, like suns. He props his hands on his hips, looking over Jay with honest sympathy and a faint smile.

“Theory?” Jay mumbles, throat sore. Did he swallow a match? A whole forest fire? He winces and rubs at his neck, unable to soothe it away on his own. This is the closest he has ever felt to being human. He cannot say he is a fan of it.

“I thought putting you out here would spare you from being woken by the train,” Tim explains, just as what Jay assumes is the mentioned train lets out one last scream before chugging off. The room settles, the drained mugs upon the glass coffee table finally falling still after rattling for the past five minutes. Tim pauses, and clears his throat after a moment of thought. “You know what a train is, right?”

“…Big noisy car,” Jay tries, looking up at the other for confirmation. Tim raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t correct him or laugh. Instead, he shrugs and moves around the table, coming down to kneel in front of Jay. The man presses his palm to Jay’s forehead, eliciting a small giggle from the fairy in spite of the remaining pain pulsing against his skull. “Do I look as sick as I feel?”

“You’re not sick, you just have a hangover. That’s what happens when you have too much alcohol,” Tim says in a tone that reminds Jay of the way mothers talk to their misbehaving children. He rises back up to stand and turns to the table, taking two of the mugs and wandering away from the living room, into the adjoining kitchen. Jay can still see him, behind the blue porcelain counter that separates the two rooms from one another. “I had a feeling this would happen. You were falling on your face and trying to climb me like a tree when we left the bar.”

Was he? That /sounds/ right but for the first time in his life, when Jay goes reaching for his memories, they shy away and stand at a distance, blurring at the edges. He focuses, asks himself what he was doing with Tim… he remembers hanging off his neck, looking up at his handsome face and seeing a somewhat annoyed man. There was fondness in his eyes, but it did not go without that narrow-eyed tinge of annoyance. 

Tim is making something, he’s pulling a tan bag from one of the two wooden cabinets propped against the wall, taking down a few chips of the deteriorating blue paint when he slams the door shut. When he opens the bag, a bitter but enticing aroma spreads through the two rooms. Coffee. The smell alone has Jay’s head clearing up already.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Jay tries his best to sound sincere. He unfolds himself from the couch, the throw blanket sliding from his body. Tim fusses over an odd contraption, shoveling the coffee grinds inside of it. He spares Jay a brief glance when the fairy’s hand comes down upon his shoulder. “Really. I don’t want to be any trouble. That’s… kind of the last thing that I want.”

(His heart jumps, and he closes his eyes at the shiver creeping up his spine. Trouble, just a troublemaker, taking up space and time, like he is to everyone else he encounters--)

“You’re good. It was kinda cute, looking back on it.”

Jay blinks down at Tim, not entirely registering the black mug shoved into his hands that’s just had a fresh round of coffee poured inside of it. Bothering Tim, forcing him to drag him around town? How was that in any way cute? He wants to argue, but, after leaving his life in the hands of luck and chance by going homeless, Jay has learned to let good things happen, no questioning them.

“If you really feel bad, though,” Tim begins, stooping down to reach the cabinets below the kitchen counter. He picks out a series of pots, banging them up onto the stove beside the coffee-creating machine. “You can make me breakfast and we’ll call it even.”

Jay rolls his eyes, though he does concede that it’s fair and takes the pots. The coffee goes forgotten on the side of the stove. 

“Hope you’ve got some eggs, that’s all I think I can make,” he warns Tim. He thinks back to the blue speckled eggs he once discovered, abandoned by the mother and ripe for the picking. They sizzled nice over that fire he made out of dry sticks. 

“Whatever you make, I’m good-- so long as it’s edible,” Tim waves him off, practically skipping away from the kitchen and to the couch, taking up the spot Jay was sprawled upon only moments ago. 

Probably better that way, keeps him out of Jay’s way. He frowns at the pots, tries to imagine them as the flat stone he laid the yolks out on back in the forest. There are indeed eggs in the compact fridge off to the side of the stove, but they are larger than the type Jay cooked.

“Alright, I can do this,” he murmurs to himself. Taking four eggs from the box, he takes care in cracking each of them, dropping two eggs in one pan and the other two in another. He turns the dial up, keeping an eye on the blue (blue, how strange!) flame that erupts from the metal rungs. The heat rolls off into his face, pulling tears to his eyes. Was this such a good idea, placing the responsibility over such a destructive force in his hands?

Out in the living room, he hears a series of tinny voices discussing the chilly weather in Tuscaloosa. He turns his head, looking out at the thick-backed television sitting on the carpet. 

“…That’s a television,” Tim says when he catches Jay staring, gesturing to the flashing screen with the remote. “It’s basically a bunch of moving pictures and voices. Not all that entertaining but it keeps the place from getting too quiet.”

“I know what a TV is,” Jay huffs, albeit with a smile. “There were a few shelters that had them. Not for us, for the staff, mostly.” He stoops back over the eggs, frowning and poking at them when they begin to hiss. “I remember this guard getting loud over a cooking show where people tried to make the best cakes, it was… unsettling. There aren’t any shows about cooking eggs correctly, are there?”

Tim’s sigh is just about audible above the crackling of the white and yellow mess in the pans. His bare feet smack on the kitchen floor, announcing his arrival over Jay’s shoulder. Gentle hands wrap around Jay’s wrists, steering him away from the stove and off to the side.

“Nice first attempt for someone who probably has no idea what butter is,” Tim says once he peers into the runny blackening concoction Jay has cooked up. He spares Jay a sincere smile before switching off the stove and taking the pan to the sink off beside the coffee-creator. The spout sends a stream of water down into the pan and a great puff of steam blows out from where it makes contact.

“Butter is a pale yellow edible fatty substance made by churning cream and used as a spread or in cooking,” Jay parrots off of the top of his head. Tim’s puzzled stare beckons a flush of violet to come rushing to his face. “…I looked it up on Google a couple weeks ago when a child’s parent on the street said that they needed to get more of it. I thought it had to do with, uh, butts.”

The pan clatters into the sink and Tim’s sudden barking laugh is cut short when the hot water leaps onto his hands. He yelps, turning the sink to cold water and rubbing his raw skin back to life.

“Well, still,” Tim manages once he’s caught his breath. He stoops over the sink basin, taking a fork that was already sitting inside and using it to scrape the eggs away. “For a one year old who didn’t have any parents to look after him when he rolled out of his flower, I think you’re doing pretty well for yourself.”

“Thank you, Timothy Wright,” Jay teases, curtseying with the edges of his long patched up coat-- which he finally takes off, now that the stove has heated up the apartment. He slings it over his shoulder and inches back toward Tim, bumping his hand against his arm before giving in and looping their fingers together. “…No, really, thanks. Not just for that, I mean, like, taking me in and being patient, and--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim interrupts with a squeeze of the hand that’s slipped into his. He frees it from Jay’s and pushes him back from the kitchen, gentle but insistent. “I /like/ you, Jay. Of course I’m gonna do all that for you.”

He pauses, like there might be more he wants to say. Brown eyes that match the black of the coffee look him over, freezing him in place. Jay opens his mouth, about to ask what’s wrong, but Tim beats him to the punch. The space between them closes, warm lips are on Jay’s cheek and it’s such a simple gesture but at the same time, it’s anything but simple. Jay might be ignorant to a million little facts to do with the world and what makes it go around, but he knows what that means.

“Go on, get out of here, I’ll cook breakfast now,” Tim pushes, and Jay is stumbling, he can’t remember how to use feet. One in front of the other, right? Or maybe it’s step on one’s own foot and trip onto one’s face, that sounds like it could be right as well. Jay maintains his balance, for the most part anyway; he has to press his hands to the doorway while making his way back to the living room. 

He makes it to the couch, /somehow/, even if he doesn’t remember moving his feet, or, wait, yes he does, he stubbed his toe on the coffee table and that’s why it’s pulsing. Hard to care when his cheek feels as though it’s aflame. His fingertips come up to touch the spot that Tim graced with his kiss, like he might have left a lip-shaped mark that could be felt if he concentrated. 

A pink fog has found its way into his skull. If he focuses on it, he can taste it, have it fill his mouth with cotton so that he’s rendered incapable of speech. He rocks with the weight of it, humming under his breath. If he could hang onto this feeling for the rest of the day, he’d be set. 

The abandoned mug on the coffee table is the cure. It clears his head with the soothing, if lukewarm heat, and he waits for the overwhelming buzz that he has come to associate with the bitter flood upon his tongue.

It never comes. Decaf. Tim got decaf for him. Jay’s eyes begin to water and he doesn’t know why.

Taking a deep calming breath into his chest, he lays back against the couch and lets himself relax, lets himself lounge around for the first time in what feels like years. Who knew werewolves were such a maintenance heavy creature and that they would always be testing the strength of their leash? Jay has to laugh to himself and bury his face in the mug that he has declared his own now.

The television is still going, with the volume low and a blonde woman smiling away at him from behind a desk. She shuffles her papers, peering down at them before nodding to a man off screen. A switch over to his side of the studio shows that he’s predicting the weather for today, that there is going to be rain and that if Tuscaloosa is particularly unlucky, it may snow later on. Jay shivers and pulls the throw covers over himself at the very idea. 

“I’ve never seen snow,” he announces to Tim, hoping to be heard over the crackle of cooking breakfast. The smell-- Jay wriggles under the covers with great joy. Buttery, salty, delicious, filling, and /not/ a fucking petal off of a dying flower. 

“Neither have I. Good thing it’s coming now instead of while we’re out in Rosswood,” Tim replies, voice raised as well. “My heating bill is gonna suck this month.”

Ah, bills. Those things humans really hate, something to do with money. Every human hates money, far as he can tell, unless it’s money coming their way. Maybe he can make bills go away and leave Tim alone, he has enough to worry about… 

The weather report ends with both the woman anchor and the man exchanging exaggerated laughter over how ill prepared Alabama would be for a round of snow. Focus returns back to the blonde, her gleaming teeth vanishing and being replaced by a serious grimace. 

“There have been several reports pouring in the past few days about an alleged creature lurking out in the wooded areas of Rosswood Park,” she announces to the viewers, to the /world/. The covers might as well not be there, Jay’s blood is frozen. “Evidence of said creature’s presence include footprints, various animals found torn apart, and some witnesses even say that they’ve heard it howling at night.”

Trees, the television cuts to a scene full of trees, their leaves gone and their branches swaying in the breeze, useless. Rosswood. Jay swallows the thick ball that’s forming in his throat, only for it to jump right back up. 

“Nobody has had the chance to get a good look at the creature’s defining features, though experts on the subject have stated that collected samples of fur point to it being a wolf… or at least, wolf-like.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” a man’s voice utters, just before the scenery of Rosswood switches over to his face with a microphone shoved underneath his mouth. His dark mustache quivers with each word, like it too can’t believe what he has discovered. “The fur definitely belongs to a wolf, but the footprints! They don’t match anything we’ve found before. Why, it looks human, almost, with the shape, but the claw marks that extend from the toes?”

The scene switches from his wide eyed stare to a shot of a footprint stamped into the dirt-- Tim’s footprint. A finger lingers over it, coming close to touching but never daring to actually do so. 

“Such large claws… it’s like I said. Never seen anything like it.”

Jay can’t hang on any further than that. He pulls the covers over his head, counting the seconds between breaths. If he doesn’t, he’ll forget to breathe altogether, and what use will he be to Tim?

A light clatter of ceramic against glass coaxes him into emerging. Before him is a plate covered by a yellow fluffy mass, sprinkled with pepper and salt. It smells like nothing he’s ever had floating around his nose, so /buttery/. He would bury his face in it if his heart wasn’t taking up the space in his mouth.

“Come on out of there,” Tim orders him. The couch grumbles under the new weight. Tim appears beside Jay and he reaches to tug the blanket from his face, letting it fall over his shoulders instead. “You can’t eat if you’ve got your mouth covered up like that.”

“But-- didn’t you hear the TV just now?” Jay points to the screen. There is a bird on now, something about how it dances along to a song called Gangnam Style. Jay couldn’t care any less, not after what he just saw. “They know about you! They might come after you!”

“Oh, was I on the news again?” Tim asks, distracted by his own plate of eggs. He picks them apart with his fork and looks up at Jay. The true concern in his eyes must hit a nerve because he straightens up and gives the matter the attention Jay feels it deserves. “Listen. I’ve been on there before. I used to worry, but every time, it’s nothing. They just use me as a sensational story to get people riled up. If anything, it helps, ‘cos it means people stay away from the forest.”

Jay screws up his face, brow furrowing and lip drawing up between his teeth. That makes sense, but…

“Alabama is a state of hunters,” he points out. “How have none of them come by to take you down for bragging points or to, I dunno, feign honor and protect their families, all that macho crap?”

Tim rolls his eyes, hiding a laugh behind a closed and chewing mouth. 

“I have you keep me in the woods because thanks to these stories, no one comes there at night anymore,” Tim assures him, leaning his head to the side to brush it against Jay’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Just keep doing what you’re doing and we should be fine. Alright?”

“No, not alright, completely totally the opposite of alright. Someone will get curious, they won’t stay away, I…”

Jay clutches his hands together, wringing them to the point of soreness. He breathes himself into a calmer state, pulling his legs into his chest.

“Okay, it’s not like I can’t handle a few humans. I can chase them off. Make them think that they’ve got somewhere else to be. It’s not that hard… but--”

“Exactly. It’s not a problem,” Tim asserts for the umpteenth time. He reaches toward the table and pulls Jay’s plate closer to him. “Now eat. You’re not going to feel any better until you do. Trust me, salt and grease is the way to go.”

Jay stares at his untouched food, the trembles still in his hands and his throat still blocked up with something that tastes like fear. He can’t defend Tim all the time, he isn’t always as fast as he needs to be and sometimes, Tim happens to slip under the radar. The wolf isn’t obedient, has a will of its own, and Jay has already made his mistakes in the past…

It’s not as simple as Tim is making it out to be, but even if Jay did convince him the issue ran deeper, what good would it do them besides cause more stress? They can’t relocate just like that, it would mean rebuilding in another empty section of land and then there’s the question of finding that location. 

With that, all Jay can do is pick up his plate and set it in his lap. He picks at the food, nibbling it from between his fingers and licking away what dribbles down his hands. Tim’s eyes drill into the back of his head, a quizzical eyebrow quirked up behind his bangs, but he never tells Jay to use a fork as he is. The man wraps an arm around his shoulders instead and pulls him closer, content to sit and watch a news story about a kitten who followed its owner across the country without being on a leash.

Everything is fine.


	13. Deserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is Jay the special one, being snatched away from the streets and into the safety of Tim Wright's home? Why him?
> 
> Well, Tim decides to be the one to remind him that sometimes the world just isn't fair to everyone in it-- and that it isn't as though Jay isn't worth the good break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one, folks, but I hope it's worth it!  
> Trigger warnings for drinking, some consent issues that are quickly resolved through discussion, and discussion of classism and life as a homeless person.  
> There's a reason it's also made the rating go up. It's not for violence, that's for sure.  
> I'm really looking for feedback on this chapter, it was a lot of work.

Each day brings a new discovery for Jay.

A good deal of them are fascinating in their useful nature. 

“Tim, no, your spoon is broken, it’s jagged at the ends… A spork? That’s-- that’s genius, actually. Humans continue to amaze me in their creativity. In fact, give me that. I feel bad using up all your cutlery.”

Others are not quite as handy but deserve his attention nonetheless.

“Leave me alone, I need to beat your Candy Crush high score. No, no, fuck off! Give me the phone back! I’ll cover it in /more/ glitter if you don’t hand it over right now!”

And a few of them… are problematic, to say the least. 

“Did you know you have this awesome drink hiding in the back of your fridge? Like. It’s really good. Like really good. My head hurts now. Wow. Uh. Soda? That’s a silly name. The bubbles in it popped when I drank it. We should call it pop.”

There is never a quiet day in the Wright household with Jay around. If Tim didn’t get a break from his shit every so often by going to work, Jay might feel bad-- but Tim reminds him, time and time again: “When I invited you here, I knew exactly what I was doing. You’re fine.”

Maybe he’s too used to living outside of here. 

In the forest, he’s free to do what he likes, hopping from flower petal to flower petal and wrapping himself up in the thickest of leaves. There, he doesn’t possess any of these amenities: no television, no human food on demand, no plush blankets to wrap around his shaking shoulders and no pillows to cushion his weary skull. 

In shelters, he has pillows, he has blankets. Not ones of the best quality, starched to death and too itchy upon his delicate skin, but it is more than he would have while lounging out in Rosswood. With those comforts comes rules, though. Lights out, no noise, keep hands to yourself, food will be served at a specific time and no, you cannot have seconds, no matter how thin you may be after a week straight of nothing but raindrops landing upon your tongue.

To be exchanging such freedoms for a safe place to rest one’s head… Jay supposes that it’s reasonable. It maintains the amount of food necessary for so many individuals in one space and the silence keeps the peace.

But that’s the problem: individuals. Individuals, with individual needs, differing from one person to the next. This one needs more food in the morning, that one needs to hear somebody speaking to them or they may lose grip on reality. Her back starts to hurt if she doesn’t have enough pillows, but if someone gives up their pillow, they will be scolded and have privileges taken away.

He must have really been putting thought into the matter, because when Tim comes home from the store, he doesn’t hear him banging the front door open after fighting with the sticking lock. Catching him out of the corner of his eye, he feels the adrenaline surge up into his limbs and erupt out from his skin, sending glitter bursting onto the couch, coffee table, and his cup of decaffeinated Dr Pepper.

“…Well, that’s new,” Tim mutters, looking over the great mess the fairy made. Jay drops to his knees and starts pooling it in his hands, brushing it off of the table and into a cupped palm. Tim lifts a hand in a silent request to stop. “You’ve basically marked every surface here, just leave it to dissolve or something.”

Indeed, the glitter does dissolve, shedding its radiance a few seconds later and fading to dust. Still-- that doesn’t save Jay the embarrassment of losing control for however brief a time. He clutches his hands close to his chest, dropping back onto the couch.

“It’s a defense mechanism,” he asserts, Tim’s laughing smile never quite faltering. 

“Huh. I wouldn’t know what to do with a fairy that just spontaneously erupted into stars in front of me so I guess it’s a good one,” Tim gives him that, though his smile remains. He drops the three bags of groceries off on top of the kitchen counter and picks apart their contents, his back facing Jay. “What were you doing that you didn’t hear me come in for once? Opening that door’s like banging down a wall.”

The fairy wrings his fingers, ducking his head. He keeps his eyes low, the faces of those he encountered in the shelter flashing to mind. 

Withered and weathered skin, aged by the outside air that bears down upon them, brows furrowed with a pain that the staff cannot soothe. 

Cracking voices, throats mangled by substances that they gave up a long time ago but the effects linger, and they try to resist the need for more but they are passed over, in favor of those that aren’t deemed weak-willed. 

Broken spirits that never wander from those halls, following the day to day routine of rise, breakfast, apply for jobs that will never get back to them, then bed, because nobody will take them, the system is not one built on mercy and helping up those who have slipped and fallen.

“Thinking about the people who don’t have a Tim,” Jay eventually answers. 

That gets Tim to abandon the groceries. He turns and looks Jay over, frowning.

“What does that mean?”

Jay paws his hands through the rat nest he calls his hair, left untouched since he rolled out of bed (or rather, couch) this morning in the thickest funk, one that he couldn’t hope to crawl out of on his lonesome. He must look troubled, because Tim leaves the counter altogether and drops down beside him, bringing him a gentle hand to trace his back.

“I… I feel bad, like, why am I the lucky one that ended up having a place to stay and food and somewhere stable and reliable?” Jay rambles on, gripping at his hair. He only drops his hand away when Tim takes it by the wrist. “Like, I can take care of myself. I won’t be happy about being out on the street and fighting for my life some of the time, but I would be doing better than most of the people I’ve seen.”

Tim’s thumb traces the lines in Jay’s wrist, looking down at their touching hands. He remains silent for a moment, apparently in thought.

“It’s not like someone went and picked you over all of them, things just kind of fell into place,” Tim assures him, squeezing at Jay’s palm when he opens his mouth to argue. “You can’t act like you tripping into a good thing like this is a bad thing. That’s not going to get you anywhere.”

“But it isn’t /fair/,” Jay presses, taking his hand from Tim’s grip. “I want to be able to help everyone! I want-- I wanna go down to the shelter and make the staff do /better/ but they don’t have the resources, and I know I can’t do it all myself, but I still…”

The impasse sits in Jay’s head like the sharpest of rocks, digging into his brain. He releases a shuddery exhale, closing his eyes. Those exhausted faces float in his vision, forcing him to come back out. 

“…Jay, you might be an asshole sometimes, but you’ve got too kind a heart for your own good.”

He straightens up at Tim’s words, seeing his sweet grin. Jay returns it, to the best of his ability when smiling causes his face to ache. 

“Kind hearts aren’t good for much if I can’t do anything to--”

“Oh, shut up,” Tim huffs, batting at Jay’s shoulder. “You’ve done just fine. Just because you have abilities that other people don’t have doesn’t mean you have to save them all.”

The doubtful noise that buzzes behind Jay’s shut lips prompts another swat at his shoulder. He tugs at the blanket laying over the back of the couch and bunches it up to his chest. What Tim says makes sense, it’s unreasonable to expect this much of himself, but that doesn’t quell the uncomfortable itch in his brain.

“Hey, how about this,” Tim tears the blanket from Jay’s hands and tucks it around his shoulders. Sincere eyes catch on to Jay’s, holding his stare. “You are helping someone. You’re helping me. You’re keeping me, these people, and everybody else safe by being with me. So you /are/ helping people, even if it isn’t how you would want to help them, but… it’s a start, isn’t it?”

There’s no arguing it. What Tim has said, it’s true, and to say he’s wrong would be nothing short of ridiculous. That urge to fight him down remains as a constrictive creature on his chest, but Jay keeps his mouth shut, opting to let himself smile and hug the blankets to his thin body.

Tim pushes at him, a teasing touch, and he takes Jay’s chin, prompting him to turn his head and meet their lips together. 

Jay never understood why humans kissed before Tim came along. A single brush of lips, stroking over, a shuddering warm breath ghosting over tingling skin, he gets it, he finally gets it.

“Y’know,” Tim murmurs against him, as they part and hover close, like neither of them can bear to let the heat between them die. “Someone so /helpful/, making things better by /helping/ and all, they would deserve a nice little date, wouldn’t they? For being such a big /help/.”

The ugliest laugh breaks out of Jay and comes out in a snort, the kind that scrapes his throat raw. He doubles over, away from Tim, coughing his throat back to normal with a fist to his mouth. The same fist comes up and taps against Tim’s arm, a hardly there punch.

“Shut up. I’ll make you go dance naked or something. You know I can do that.”

Despite his laughter, Tim must take his threat seriously-- he leaps away, off of the couch and back onto his feet. His hands are raised in surrender, remaining in Jay’s line of sight up until he’s behind the kitchen counter and tending to the forgotten groceries.

Jay stays where he is, content to watch, curious as to what new magical thing he’s yet to see may emerge from those brown paper bags. He hums, the sweet noise circling the potted herb plant perching on the kitchen window and urging it to sway-- a simple dance.

With the promise of a date floating in his mind, it’s hard to worry and fuss as he was doing earlier. It sits as a heavy rock inside of him, but it’s easier to hold now. 

He’ll think about it again, those long faces and blank eyes, it’s inevitable.

Maybe that time, it’ll be in his power to help those people and bring the light back to them.

\--

Jay promised he wouldn’t drink as much this time. He learned his lesson, didn’t want to face the pain of a hangover again, nor /be/ a pain on Tim by requiring supervision and assistance every step of the way home.

He makes good on that promise.

For the most part, anyway.

“I like colorful drinks, they’re like little potions,” Jay shares with the bartender, swirling the pink concoction in his hand. The sweet aroma wafting off of it assaults Tim’s nose. He’s tempted to cover his mouth, but he’s more concerned with snatching Jay’s attention back, before he says something silly. The fairy gives an indignant squeak when Tim swats his arm, ducking away and frowning at him. They’re left alone, with the bartender getting the message and bustling off to attend to a pair of leather jacket clad ladies. “What?”

“Stop there, you’ll be telling him about your powers next and he’ll call the cops on you for being doped up in his bar.”

“Please. Alcohol is a drug as well, why would he care about me smoking the dank?” Jay whines, biting onto the rim of his glass.

It’s a miracle Tim doesn’t give himself a concussion dropping his head onto the counter.

“I guess we’re going to visit Wikipedia later and learn about the proper slang for weed.”

“What’s any of this got to do with disruptive plants-but-not-plants?” Jay asks with so much fucking sincerity, it could give Tim an ulcer. The world has never seen such innocence within a drunken man.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Listen, I have to go to the bathroom, you’re coming with me ‘cos I don’t trust you alone here,” Tim declares, snatching him by the arm and pulling him down from the stool before he can protest. He doesn’t have the capacity for the words required for protesting, anyway; Jay babbles at his back as they stroll along, slurring happily to himself.

“Whazz… tender, bar, tender, what’s so tender ‘bout bar people, they’re not tender, mean, actually. They look at me funny. Hm. Just the one. We only know one. Unless you know others. You should introduce me.”

Tim chuckles under his breath. No, he won’t be introducing Jay to any other bartenders, not tonight.

The bathroom door squeals open, permitting the two of them inside. Thank god, it’s cleaner than it was the last time Tim was here, no paper towels on the linoleum floor and the porcelain sinks are gleaming now. Jay lingers near the entrance, toying with the metal goodies box affixed to the wall and attempting to jostle the glow wands out of it using pennies out of his pocket. Good, he’s occupied, Tim can relieve himself in peace… kind of, anyway. Both stalls are taken, leaving him with the questionably clean urinal.

Whoever is inside the stalls apparently came in with a friend. They chatter together through the divider, deep voices echoing from within. 

“Marjorie won’t leave my gun alone… I keep tryin’ to leave it out on the mantle, y’know, like décor and shit, but no, she says that it makes us seem a violent lot. What the hell, we ain’t violent, I’m just doin’ it for sport!”

“I hear ya, bud, Muriel’s the same, she don’t like my guns sittin’ round the house. I keep ‘em out so I can defend the family, though, just in case.”

Tim catches Jay’s eye, just before they both bite their lips and fight to keep the giggles away. Hunters, right next door to the true owners of the forest, caught unawares. 

“Well… whatever, I’m headin’ home. I’ll be seein’ you next week at Rosswood, right?”

A toilet flushes, louder than expected. Tim has to re-steady himself after flinching, keeping his eyes straight ahead as the person in the farthest stall emerges doing up his large belt buckle. The man looks exactly how he sounds, broad at the shoulders and belly straining at his plaid, an impressive dark beard upon his chin. The other hunter joins him-- he could pass for his brother, with the same hair color and stature.

“Yeah, definitely. We’ll get that fuckin’ monster yet… and by we, I do mean me.”

The pair of them chuckle and swear at one another, pawing for each other’s hands for one last parting handshake. They pass by Jay, who mutters a quiet ‘excuse me’ when he’s bumped up against the smooth wall and is given no apology.

Tim finished and zipped back up long before he and Jay were left alone. 

He feels blue eyes drilling into his back, demanding his attention. When Tim meets his stare, he’s held there for what feels like a long time, though it couldn’t possibly be more than a minute. 

The alcoholic fog that was glossed over his eyes is dissipated now, leaving a very sober and very serious Jay in its wake.

“We talked about this,” Tim speaks before Jay can start. The fairy closes his mouth, lips thinning. “They’re not a big deal. They talk a big game but they never get around to actually /finding/ me. It’s always accidental when I meet up with a hunter. Besides, I don’t even start turning until three days from now.”

He approaches the sinks standing against the opposite wall in a row, catching a glimpse of Jay’s wincing gaze in the white-flecked mirrors. Tim forces his own eyes down to the faucet, switching it on. The water is too loud, hitting against the basin and hissing as it rattles out of the pipes. 

“Tim… I don’t want to have to hurt anyone, but for you, if--”

“We’re too careful, no one’s getting hurt,” Tim stops him again, putting more effort than necessary into wetting his hands. Touching the soap dispenser with slippery fingers sends the orange bottle cascading down onto the floor, prompting two pairs of hands to come darting down after it. Jay catches it first, somehow, even though he wasn’t /there/ a second ago but Tim doesn’t question it. He takes the offered bottle and keeps his face straight as possible, scrubbing at his palms until the skin is raw. 

“I guess hurting anyone kind of ruins the whole point of you calling on me to come keep you in line.”

There, he gets it. Tim nods, twisting the sink knob and looking back at Jay again. He has his head down, his hands toying and tugging at one another. Soap bubbles from the flying bottle slide on his fingers, hanging onto him long after they ought to have popped from his fidgeting.

It’s impossible to ignore him when he’s like this, and maybe Tim is being careless, maybe he’s ignoring the inevitable in the hopes that it will be pushed further away, but what /can/ they do about any of this? Carrying on as they were is the best option, in his opinion, considering the other options… well, there aren’t any.

Giving in to the sweet cow eyes being flashed at him, he steps in and closes the little bit of distance between them, taking each of Jay’s hands in his own. Delicate, bones that have the thinnest sheet of skin between them and blood, and yet these hands can hold him down when his teeth are long and his mind isn’t his own.

“I’ll be okay,” Tim says-- not a promise, but an attempt at reassurance, yes, he will lie under the power of inevitability to get that fucking sunken look off of Jay’s face. He kisses his left hand, a sweet brush of skin to skin, and then moves on to kiss the other one as he continues to speak: “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, even if you don’t.”

He moves on to better places to kiss, like the corner of Jay’s lip. He’s pulled in by his head, the kiss deepening. He will have glitter in his hair for days but it’s hard to care when Tim feels Jay’s laughter spilling over onto his own lips. 

Then, a gasp, not one of delight but a short and shuddery one, of fear. 

He opens his eyes and tugs away from Jay, remembering where they are. Alabama, a /bar/ in Alabama, full of men who are lacking control of their actions and thoughts, alcoholic fumes swimming inside their skulls and taking the reins. 

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to take his boyfriend-- or, his boyfriend as far as everyone looking on is concerned-- to a bar? /Here/? Of all places?

This guy is on his own, whoever he may be, but he’s stronger than either of them, has broader shoulders than the hunters from earlier and his dark eyes are narrowed beneath the brim of his baseball cap. Tim freezes in place, hands clenched at his sides, praying that they weren’t seen but knowing very well that this stranger received more than an eyeful of their antics.

Jay lunges, moving as a blur out of the corner of Tim’s eye, too fast for him to reach out and catch him by the scruff or the collar of his shirt. He has his hands extended before him, and he shoves them up against the man’s barrel chest, as though to hold him back-- and it becomes clear then, as his eyes lose the fire they held and go dull, just what Jay’s intentions are. 

“…Hey, guys, hey!” the man calls out to his friends, outside the bathroom door. “There’s free kissin’ in the bathrooms! We should get in on that, that’s a good deal!”

Chattering voices outside explode into laughter, providing the perfect cover for Tim and Jay to duck out under. The fairy snatches Tim’s arm, guiding him out and away to safety, traversing through the bar and pretending that they aren’t disrupting the fun by bumping into each and every chair on the way. 

Standing on the outside of the bar beneath the flickering neon lights hooked against its huge glass windows, Tim can’t help but laugh. Jay shakes with each breath he takes, and he looks to Tim, brow knit together in confusion.

“See, even there, you’re keeping me and everyone safe, and I’m not even wolfed out yet,” Tim explains best as he can through his giggling. “I mean, you probably just stopped a huge fight or, I dunno, a miniature riot with you thinking quick like that.”

Purple-- yes, purple, Tim loves that extra little reminder, Jay isn’t human, he is out of this world and he is his-- purple blood pools in Jay’s cheeks, and he ducks his head, giving a weak shrug.

“I did what I had to.”

Tim has to shake his head. Jay’s earned himself a night of rest after this, not on the couch where he has staked out his territory but in a proper bed. 

“C’mon, let’s head back.”

And head back they do, using one another for balance. Jay more so than Tim, but Tim does his fair share of stumbling over his feet and snatching at Jay’s arm to remain upright. He never drank this close to the time where the transformation begins, never had the chance or ever really wanted to. Whether there’s any difference to him intoxicated when he’s normal to… this, he can’t detect it.

Not until he has Jay in the apartment and sees him stretching up, arms over his head, limbs long and spine longer. His thin red sweater rides up, exposing his lower back and the ridges that hide beneath the bare skin. They deserve bites, red marks to announce their presence to the world. Maybe claw marks down his shoulder blades.

That’s when it hits him, what’s happened to him and his brain. 

“C’mere,” Tim mutters, uncertain if Jay heard him and not caring whether he did. He comes up behind Jay, hears him hum a little question but breaks it off with the touch of his fingertips to his sides. 

The fairy is frozen under his hands, then he leans back, presses himself against Tim. Now, around, to his chest, down the flat plane of his stomach, and back up the smooth hills that are his ribs.

His face is buried in Jay’s shoulder, not quite tall enough to nose into his neck but he can graze his teeth over the skin. Won’t break it. 

(Can’t break it.)

“Let’s go to bed.”

Jay pulls out of his embrace, turning to him and revealing an ever purpling face. He nods, looking Tim up and down, like he needs to be sure he’s still there with him, before taking Tim by the wrist and guiding him. The rest of the apartment flashes by in a familiar blur of color and shapeless blobs until he’s standing in his moonlit bedroom. Earlier, the air had been tinted with a taste of leftover heat from the long southern summer.

Now, the night has come to remind them that the winter is here to stay. Tim shivers and spares a glance toward the moon, looking over them with admiring eyes. He shivers again before daring to approach Jay where he stands, at the side of the bed with his hands tucked away behind his back.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” Jay asks, when Tim’s hands fall upon his shoulders and he’s tugged down, knees bent so that he’s the shorter one. Tim hopes this kiss is a good enough answer for him, that he isn’t going to bed alone tonight-- but when they part and Jay is staring at him, he knows it didn’t get through to him. “…Tim?”

“Just-- sit,” Tim orders, yes, orders, because Jay continues to be both endearingly and annoyingly ignorant to social customs and he loves him for it, god, he does, but he’s going to have to pin his wrists over his head and straddle his lap to get the message across.

So he does. 

He doesn’t dare move for several seconds, seconds that might as well be hours in how long they take to carry out and burn away upon his heated skin. The drink is still in his system, but it isn’t what it was a few moments ago, sped away by the pounding of his heart. 

Jay’s chest thuds under the flat plane of his palm, just as his does.

“Do you understand now?” Tim gets himself to ask, because he might think Jay understands, but he can’t know, not for sure until he says it with his own mouth. His lovely mouth. Which he has to kiss again. And again. Maybe he should stop for a second and let Jay breathe and think. His shuddering chest suggests that he’s having a bit of trouble finding air as it is.

The fairy nods, blue eyes sliding shut. His hands come up to the back of Tim’s head, weaving through his hair, like he’s petting him. Like he only does when he has fur and teeth too large to fit in his jaw. Purring cats must feel this way.

“I read books about it, and… met a few people who were interested,” Jay says too softly for those encounters to have ended well. “I don’t know if you’ll want to. They didn’t once they had a look at me. You saw me before, but, I dunno if it matters.”

Tim bites his tongue to keep from immediately blurting out “bullshit”. No way anyone got to hold this creature in their arms and turned him away. He shakes his head and pushes his nose into the soft flesh of Jay’s neck.

“I did see you. But I didn’t get a good look. Let me see, if you want to show me. I won’t run.”

Blue eyes hood over, flickering between their laps and Tim’s face. Jay takes his time in reaching down to undo the button of his borrowed jeans, and he pauses after tugging down the zip. He peers up again, squinting at Tim.

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that ‘cos you’re drunk?”

Legitimate question to be asking, Tim has to admit that. He blinks and leans back on his haunches, hands on his thighs. Turning his head side to side, he finds that the world remains steady and that his vision isn’t a blur. The fire in his chest may have been fueled by whiskey and other hot liquids that scalded his throat, but nothing is left to stoke the flames but his own desire.

“I’m more than sure,” Tim promises the fairy. He wraps his fingers around his wrists, leaving it up to Jay to see his touch as either a gentle urging or gentle reassuring. “What about you? You’re not doing this because--”

“No,” Jay stops him immediately, eyes flashing and his hands trembling as they shove his jeans the rest of the way. Tim lets him move back on the bed, perches at the edge and watches him closely. He forgets all about the leg he has hanging off the bed, the other pressing into the mattress. 

He was right, he’s not what Tim was expecting. Then again, is it fair to expect something with certainty when he’s learned from Jay that human expectations are bullshit?

The light that had glimmered in Jay’s eyes a second ago falters, threatening to extinguish the longer Tim stares and takes in this new skin. It comes back to life the moment Tim brings his hands to grip at Jay’s thighs. They part and spread further, exposing him. 

“Is the purple stuff, um, a good thing?” Tim asks. The inelegance of his words is positively painful, but he can’t ignore this, he has to know. Jay ducks his head, his cheeks a similar shade to the strange substance trickling from the tunnel-like muscle between his thighs.

“Very good thing.”

Tim has to take a breath. He kissed Jay, sat atop his thighs and lingered close to him, and he’s overflowing already. 

He can’t resist him. He moves in, presses a knee between Jay’s thighs for him to rub into and he takes complete advantage of it. It’s a strange sensation, slippery, like Jay could be rubbing any part of his body against Tim right now-- except it’s wet. Simple as it might feel to Tim, though, it must be amazing for Jay. The fairy throws his head back, delicate legs shaking around Tim.

“More,” Jay demands after a time of scrabbling at Tim’s back for leverage, and god, yes, Tim wants to give that to him. But he looks down at Jay’s naked lower half, sees his entrance, and he has an /idea/ of what he’s meant to do, /but/--

(don’t mess this up don’t mess this up)

“How do I…”

Slender fingers guide his hand down between Jay’s legs, and they’re pushed inside, where the skin is bumpy and wet. That in itself gets Jay to tighten around him, having this many fingers in him-- two of Tim’s, the tips of his own.

“Just, feel around, move, do something, I don’t care,” Jay utters, chest heaving as he goes to lay back against the mattress again. He stretches out, shows himself off to Tim, thin arms over his head bringing his shirt to rise and reveal the ridges and valleys of his ribcage.

Bending his finger, Tim grinds his knuckle into this rougher, firmer bit of muscle inside Jay, explores it and what it does to the fairy.

Apparently, it does a lot. Jay’s gasp drags out in high little stutters that remind Tim of bells. His back arches, moving his torso and the bones within. Watching those ridges drag under the skin is a thing of beauty.

His fairy. His fairy. His. A roaring beast inside his chest demands for Tim to kiss Jay, and he does, pressing a third finger into him just as he parts his mouth and lets him taste the fruity aftertaste of their trip to the bar. His moans vibrate against Tim’s lips, leaving behind a tickle that he has to quell by rubbing them along the crook of Jay’s neck. 

Jay’s sobbing, sobbing, sobbing-- (he’s beautiful and blue and /glowing/) and the sheets are soaked through with purple matter that Tim has no name for. His fingers are as well when he takes them out, albeit with a bit of trouble-- the fairy just doesn’t want to let him go. 

Tim hovers close, resisting the urge to lick his fingers clean out of good sense; he doesn’t know what this could do to his insides. He dabs his fingers dry with a tissue, sitting close as Jay breathes himself back to life. The fairy has his hands tangled in his own hair, arms blocking his eyes like looking out into the world right now might break him. 

Though he’s done sobbing, when Jay does take his arms away from his face, there are tears streaking his violet-tinged cheeks. The weak grin twitching upon his lips is the only thing that holds Tim back from the panic his skipping heart called for.

“I didn’t even think we would do this together,” Jay murmurs, speaking just above a whisper. In the darkness of the bedroom, his body is surrounded by the faintest blue. Like he’s electric to the touch. Tim tests it, stroking Jay’s arm finding nothing but warmed flesh. 

“It’s not the first thing on my mind most days, to be honest,” Tim replies with a faint shrug. He lets himself lay back on the bed beside Jay, the complete wrong way with their legs hanging off the side rather than resting at the end. “But I saw your skin and I… I needed to have more than that.”

Jay’s giggle-- again, like bells, ringing in the not too far off distance-- falls upon his ears, then his chest, heating him through.

“It’s not something I think about unless I’m bored! It’s funny, what you can do with some vines and a ton of alone time.”

Shit.

Tim has to look at anything but Jay now.

“I think if you keep talking like that, you’ll find out what you can do with a mostly sobered up werewolf.”

The purple in Jay’s face couldn’t get any more pronounced if it tried. He covers his eyes, thighs squishing together in a firm wordless answer: ‘no thank you’.

“I dunno if I’m ready for any more yet.” 

“Alright then.”

Jay peeks out from behind his hands, just in time to see Tim flop back onto his pillow. Long lashes blink at him in disbelief, like he’s shocked to find this could be where the night ends.

“…Are you sure?” Jay asks, so softly, it would break Tim’s heart were he not speaking so sweetly as well. His answer is one kiss, an arm pulling him in close to his shoulder, and his head nestling into the boney but warm space upon Jay’s chest. 

They’re silent for a moment, the two of them breathing contentedly. Until--

“You’re really sure? I mean, I saw your pants, you look like you need some hel--”

It takes a pillow to the face to convince Jay that yes, it’s /okay/.


	14. Doing One's Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's way of scraping by in life is in danger, but lucky for him, he has a fairy on his side. Later, he and his fairy head away to their safe haven in the woods, preparing for the beast. Jay tries his hand at bringing levity to the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings, for body horror in the form of bone injury- also someone has a slight breakdown and there could be some more internalized classism.

Who knew sleeping on a proper mattress sat upon a sturdy frame and not the crooked handmade floor could be good for one’s back?

Not Jay, that’s for sure, not the one who is more used to calling an empty alleyway his temporary bedroom. That’s just one benefit of staying in a real true to God bed, though-- he wakes up, eyes to the ceiling over his head keeping him safe, and he’s /warm/. He doesn’t shiver or have to rub his arms back to life, and he can twist and turn in place and his spine doesn’t complain. 

Best of all is the heated body at his side, a body he has grown familiar with and wouldn’t give up for all the sweetest dew drops rose petals have to offer. 

He didn’t catch himself doing it at the time, but he must have shrunk down in the night. This isn’t the height his bones are most comfortable with, but it’s the one that made him fit best against Tim’s chest and inside the safe circle of his arms. These arms, strong from the labor he forces himself through for the sake of living somewhere suitable for human habitation… 

Arms that are bigger than they were the night before. 

It looks to be a trick of the light at first glance. White winter sun crawls in past the pulled shades on the window, shaping shadows throughout the bedroom and twisting them into the silhouettes of impossible creatures. Tim’s arms appear lighter and Jay has to blink and run his hand over the one draped upon his waist to confirm that they are indeed a bit swollen.

Sleepy weight sits upon Jay’s brain, beckoning him to lay his head back down and drift away to dreams again. However, the responsibility that brought Jay to Tim in the first place keeps him where he is, pushing him to sit up and bring a hand through the man’s hair, urging him to the waking world. 

“Mmnuh,” is Tim’s first oh so elegant word when he opens his mouth. The second one is far more violent, or, rather, words: a string of curses that come pouring from between his gritting teeth at rapid fire. It’s difficult to pinpoint which is worse; his anger bursting through this early into waking, or the sound of his bones crackling while he attempts to bring himself up to sit.

“Good morning,” Jay tries to smile, but it falters immediately at Tim’s sour glance over his broadened shoulder. The blades beneath have shifted in the night, higher, further apart. Jay would expect to be used to it by now, but the mere thought of what it must feel like is quick to shatter that idea. 

“Good fucking morning, it most definitely is,” Tim growls under his breath, the words rumbling in his chest. He grabs the coverless pillow out from behind himself and buries his face in it. The man muffles a snarl into it, teeth digging into the fabric, very close to tearing it when he pulls back and lets the pillow flop off his lap. “Where’s my phone?” 

Jay pats around for the device at Tim’s demand. He sees it sliding out of his jeans, which he kept on overnight while they slumbered. Keeping his mouth shut about how uncomfortable that must’ve been, he points at the phone, keeping his hands to himself. 

Tim rolls his eyes before snatching it out of his pockets and flipping the white linens off of himself. He tugs up his jeans when he’s on his feet, stomping from the room and flicking bright icons around on his phone screen.

The fairy remains where he is, gathering up the covers now that they’re his and his alone. He doesn’t dare go after Tim. No way is he going to be the one to further provoke him. Especially not when he hasn’t found his own pants yet, wherever they might have gotten to. 

He holds the sheets to his shivering form, vulnerable to the winter air trickling into the draft-prone home. From the next room over Jay hears the faint rumbling ringtone of Tim’s phone, followed by a peppy voice that he doesn’t recognize reciting his store’s greeting. ‘Hello, thank you for calling, how may I help you’…

“Yeah, yeah, it’s Tim, Seth.”

“Oh, hey Tim,” Seth’s voice drops immediately into a more casual, even bored tone. Jay shakes his head and lays back, burying his face in Tim’s pillows.

There is a new musk here, not new to him but new as in it wasn’t here the night before. They should’ve known, or maybe Tim did know and he couldn’t give a shit, not when the wolf comes creeping up on him so often now. What’s the point of stopping life? He might as well stretch out his ‘normal’ time as far as he can. 

Besides, as is made obvious in the next moment, stopping life isn’t a simple feat to face, especially at a moment’s notice.

“I’m hearing… things, Tim. Listen, I feel for you. Being sick all the time… you look really bad sometimes, I know you’re not faking it. I don’t think anyone here actually believes you’re just taking us for a ride. But--”

“What the hell are you saying? Are you trying to tell me the manager wants to fire me? Are you fucking serious?”

“Tim, no, no, listen, I’m just saying you should maybe look for other options, maybe freelancing so you don’t--”

“Shut up, Seth! Just say he wants to fire me so I can quit ahead of time and get away from this godforsaken place.”

The silence that follows builds up a firm lump inside Jay’s throat. He closes his eyes and hugs the pillow tighter to his chest. Its musk isn’t bringing much comfort to him when he knows that Tim is falling apart not ten feet away.

He can’t hear what Seth says next, but whatever it is, Tim doesn’t want to listen. A sharp beep cuts him off, and again, all is quiet for a moment. The pillow is straining beneath Jay’s tightening grip, like it might split in two.

Lumbering footsteps announce Tim’s return into the bedroom. His hair hangs in his eyes, and his phone isn’t with him anymore. Jay untangles himself from the bed, looking to Tim and opening his arms for him.

The spot of comfort Tim is offered is taken immediately-- Jay flinches at the head suddenly pushing into his chest, and the arms that cling onto him are hanging on too tight but he can’t bring himself to tell Tim that it hurts. He runs his hands up and down the man’s back, soothing as best as he can when he’s pinned to the bed. 

(Tim shoving his head into his chest, rubbing his cheek against his heart… it’s like the beast, stealing all the affection it can, but he can’t say that, he isn’t /that/ foolish.)

“I can’t keep doing this, Jay,” Tim utters into his neck, his words wet and his eyes wetter. “It’s killing me, it’s gonna actually kill me one day. How haven’t I had a heart attack already?”

“It’s okay, Tim, it’s gonna be alright,” Jay assures him without knowing whether it’s fair to promise him that. Humans are cruel, they are going to look at each other and see the desperation in their faces, and they see no reason to have mercy on those who need it most? 

“Jay, no, I’ve been fired before! Who’s going to hire me if they see I’ve been fired /again/, and, and, I can’t do this anymore, I’m…”

His words wash away in a flood of tears and pained sobbing. Not once has Jay ever grown himself to a larger height, never saw the need to. But he does for Tim, straining his poor bones and, for a second, he understands the pains Tim must face every time the full moon is upon him. He can’t fully grasp how it feels, but perhaps this is enough. He sits tall, has room for Tim to curl into his lap and keep his face in the safety between his neck and shoulder

Tears stain the thin cotton shirt he wears. They seem to fall forever, until Tim’s shaking has come to an end and he has to collapse back onto the mattress, eyes glassy as they pierce into the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” he mutters when Jay’s hand comes to push his hair from his face. “I dunno what I’m gonna do.”

There’s no way Jay can respond to that. Not without sounding like an idiot. Of course Tim can look for more jobs but it isn’t that /simple/, otherwise Tim would’ve brushed Seth off like it was nothing at all. 

So he does what he can: he crouches down, pressing his lips to Tim’s ear. He strokes his hair for a moment more. Then, he swings his legs out of the bed, and he stands, hovering over Tim.

“I’m going to make breakfast. Just sit here and… think for a while. Alright?”

“Don’t burn the apartment down,” Tim mumbles, and that’s all he has to say. He curls up into the smallest ball he can manage, taking Jay’s instructions to heart.

He’s never looked smaller.

Jay wanders from the room, taking long slow steps. The morning train is going by, balancing out the silence with its insistence on being heard by all. Floorboards rattling under his feet, he heads through the hall and into the living room, where he finds Tim’s phone left out on the coffee table. 

The fairy kneels at the table, taking the phone in his hands. He turns it over and over, finding the power button at the top and pressing it… and a lock appears. Luck is on his side; Tim must not think his few friends are all that nosy because Jay only has to swipe the lock away, no code to follow. 

Not once has Jay gone straying into Tim’s contacts, too preoccupied with beating his high scores on Candy Crush. It takes a good several tries to figure out where his contacts would even be. The red icon leads to a white page, this one plays loud music, that one-- that’s the one, the green button, it has a list of titles sitting on top of numbers. Scrolling down, he eventually finds a number coupled with the title of ‘hell’.

Sounds about right. 

Jay taps it, before climbing to his feet and making his way toward the front door. Tim doesn’t need to hear this.

“Hello, thank y--”

“I would like to speak to your manager,” Jay demands in the most serious voice he can muster up. Whoever is on the other end fumbles the phone, dropping it to the floor. Good. 

“O-oh. May I ask what reason you’re calling for?”

It doesn’t sound like Seth. What a shame. Jay was hoping to hand his ass to him. 

“A complaint. About one of your employees. They were very rude to my friend today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” the stranger on the other end apologizes quickly, their tone changing suddenly. “I’ll get the boss real quick, hang on…”

A terse beep follows their words, leaving Jay alone outside the apartment door. He leans in the doorway, tapping his foot against the marble floor. Impatient, huffy, demanding managers? He better be careful, he’s starting to sound like the angry old people he runs into at the supermarket and offends with his mere existence. 

One click out of the blue, and--

“Hello, how may I help you?”

There. Concentrate. Latch onto the voice that is in his ear and seep into the brain that emits these words.

“You will not fire Timothy Wright,” Jay orders-- and he knows this person will obey. He has done this a hundred times before, taken hold of the wills of those that were being unfair and warped them to match his own. “You will keep him around. You will respect when he is unable to come into work. You will /not/ question why he cannot come into work.”

The other end is silent for a time, and then: “I will.”

“You will /what/?” Jay asks, just to seal the deal. A final stamp on the contract, so to say.

“I will not fire Tim. I will respect him. I will not give him trouble.”

Jay has never smiled quite so wickedly in his life.

“Good. That’ll be all, sir. Have a good day.”

“I will have a good day,” the manager parrots back to him. Jay shakes his head and takes the phone away from his ear, tapping at the red box that displays as the screen lights up.

He lets himself back into the apartment, wasting no time in returning to the bedroom to let Tim know there won’t be any more trouble with his boss. Butterflies flutter inside of him at the thought of bringing such great relief to him-- bringing him protection, control, /and/ relief, what a good fairy he is.

All of that anger and fear at once must have worn Tim out, though, and he rarely has energy to spare during the time of transformation. Jay discovers him sprawled out in bed, taking up as much space as possible with his limbs laid out like a starfish’s. 

It’s a good thing he’s charged up after that phone conversation, otherwise Jay might have something to say about this.

But, no, he’s perfectly fine being awake, perfectly okay with stooping over and kissing Tim’s forehead and wishing him good dreams.

He did promise him that things would be okay, and breakfast.

Jay might as well go on and fulfill the rest of his promise. 

\--

Tim always leaves early the morning he heads out to his cabin. He’s not an ‘early’ person; he is punctual, he will show up on time for work and whatever adult bullshit he has to fulfill that day in order to go on living, but not early. This isn’t for his convenience but for the safety of others around him.

Jay is very quick to learn this while sitting in the passenger seat of the car. 

From the corner of his eye, Tim sees the fairy curled up into a protective ball, hands over his eyes. He dares to peek past his fingers when they roll up to a stoplight, which is happening less and less the closer they get to Rosswood. Poor thing was so excited to be in the car at the beginning of their journey-- again, he claims to know a bit about cars after spending as much time as he did on the library computers but only has so much hands-on experience.

“I mean, it’s impossible to not know /something/ about cars when there about a billion of them all over the place honking and screaming,” Jay said before hopping into his seat and immediately taking it upon himself to push every button on the dashboard. Luckily, that was before Tim had put the keys in the ignition. “Just imagine being newborn, though, and having a huge metal death trap rushing down the street screeching at you. It’s not the best of introductions.”

Tim smiled at the image past the pain of having his sharpened teeth poke the inside of his lips. 

Now, that excitement stemming from innocent curiosity is gone, drained away by each swerve of the wheels and hurried pump of the brakes.

He wants to try harder for Jay, get a better handle on his aching muscles and shaking legs. It’s impossible, though-- they both learned long ago that exerting control over his own body at a time like this is like asking a cat to bark. 

“We’re almost there,” Tim tries to reassure Jay, as he slams his foot to the brakes again when he realizes he’s veering off the road. The fairy whines at his side and burrows further into the arms he has wrapped around his knees. Tim sits a moment, squeezing at his bicep, willing it to work as it ought to. “You don’t have to sit in the car with me, y’know. You can fly.”

“I know,” Jay squeaks in a weak voice. “It felt silly to fly when you’d be right beneath me, though. And it isn’t easy finding a spot to take off in town without being seen.”

Tim doesn’t argue, especially since what Jay said makes sense, but still. Causing him unnecessary stress is the last thing he wants to be doing. 

The park is within view now, the large painted white sign ahead standing out against the black bark of the dead trees. A quick glance around shows that Tim was right to arrive early as he did; nobody is awake yet save for a single jogger who’s already on their way out of the woods, rubbing their hands together for friction-born heat. 

One more turn, a few squeaky inches into a spot in the desolate parking lot, and he’s in. 

“Jay, you don’t have to keep hiding, car’s off,” Tim tells him, jingling the car keys in front of his covered face. The fairy takes his hands away to peer out the windshield so he can confirm what Tim said. He pauses, looking to the skies and frowning.

“…I think the snow that they were talking about on your TV finally came.”

Tim’s ready to call bullshit until he steps outside the car. As though nature is eager to prove itself, white crystals flutter down and land upon him, standing out starkly against his black sweater. He stares down at it long after it’s melted, leaving behind a spot of blacker fabric. 

“Of course it would snow once we got out here,” he grouses under his breath. Locking the car doors up tight, he gestures to Jay so that he knows to follow him off of the dirt path that starts beside the map pinned to an empty ‘Information’ stand. “C’mon. Shortcut.”

Ever obedient, Jay falls into step behind him, and for a good ten minutes, they stay like this. Tim is the only one to speak, instructing his companion on when to duck away from a low hanging branch or when to keep an eye out for the brush that might stick him if given the chance. Jay keeps close, but he doesn’t say a word, and… that’s all, it’s utterly silent save for Tim’s voice and their footsteps echoing each other.

It becomes suspicious after about fifteen minutes, and Tim rounds on Jay, prepared to question his wellbeing-- until he sees what it is that has Jay’s focus. 

Hovering above the fairy’s cupped hands is an orb. Made of what, Tim couldn’t say, but if air wasn’t invisible, he’d say that it looked like /this/, glassy and see-through but definitely still there. Snowflakes gather up inside of it, any fluttering bits of white that dare to approach Jay’s face immediately falling inside of the orb. 

“What’s that?” Tim asks, extending an arm to touch and backing off when Jay jerks his creation out of reach. 

“I dunno yet,” Jay says, eyes flashing in a manner that suggests he enjoys the mystery. Tim has to shake his head; maybe if they get to the cabin faster Jay will be more agreeable.

Still, every so often he has to peek over his shoulder. Each check in shows a larger orb, expanding up to where it’s as broad as Jay’s shoulders. It continues to float above Jay’s palms, never touching him or anything surrounding them. 

By the time the thick tree trunks finally turn to twigs and bushes and the cabin is emerging from the black painted over the forest by winter, the orb has to go over Jay’s head, no longer fitting into the small circle of his arms.

“Stand back,” Jay orders of Tim, rushing ahead of him without warning. The man steps aside anyway, curiosity winning him over. 

Not a moment later, the swirling mass of flakes erupts like a magnificent white fountain, shooting up into the sky. Violent bursts of air bluster past Tim, rustling his hair and leaving it to stand at attention. The great flowing creature flying from Jay’s crooked fingers darts to the single space of living grass in front of the cabin’s door. White overtakes green, swallowing it whole. 

Jay flicks his wrist and rolls his hands through the air, as though pushing something invisible. The white flakes crowd together at his silent order, smashing and crashing and bashing into each other until they form a trio of brilliant shining orbs, each smaller than the one floating beneath it. He swipes his fingers downward in their direction, bringing the spheres together. They descend one after the other, melding perfectly to create a familiar figure: a snowman.

Bringing his hands together and then waving them in a curve, the fairy shapes the snowman from afar. Indents and bumps crop up from the orbs. Flakes trail away from their original resting place, eventually leading to the figure taking on a more natural and human silhouette. 

Tim looks on all the while, his amazement softening into a knowing smirk. Those pricked up ears are unmistakable. That’s him, or, him when the moon is pinned up against the night sky, long snout, sharp teeth and all.

“I think you could’ve made my arms look bigger,” Tim teases, unable to help himself. He ducks as a fourth smaller orb of snow forms out of nowhere and flings itself towards his head. “Hey, all great artists have their work criticized!”

“Yeah, well, my work is perfect and doesn’t need criticism,” Jay replies with such certainty, Tim isn’t sure if he’s being facetious or otherwise. Nonetheless, he takes in his creation and nods, apparently satisfied. He approaches it and balances on his tiptoes, petting the wolf upon its smiling face. Its tongue lolls out, falling off at even his delicate touch. “Oh, Mr. Wright, it seems the cat has your tongue…”

Tim lingers, despite the deep ache inside of his legs threatening to send him to the ground. He needs to sit, and soon, but being here with Jay, watching him trace vague patterns into his snow persona, it’s /fun/, and laying around for hours upon hours in pain… it’s just not that appealing to him.

Bodies, especially bodies that transform and warp themselves beyond their limit, are not to be ignored, and Tim finds that he can’t bear it anymore. It comes with a warning, a harsh twinge in his cracking knees, but he doesn’t heed it, he’s used to the breaking bones by now. 

But he can’t stop his legs from inevitably giving out, his knees digging into the dirt and tearing the already thin fabric of his jeans. Jay abandons the snowman without a second thought to spare; he dashes to Tim’s side and takes his arm, slinging it around his own shoulder. They rise together, taking slow synchronized steps toward the cabin. Passing by the snow-wolf, Jay nods to the door and sends it swinging open, somehow.

Tim doesn’t question it, too relieved to see the mattress. Unsupportive for the back and shitty by any and all mattress standards? Certainly, definitely, yes. Better than nothing? Yes, triple times yes. He could be lying on an actual cloud and he wouldn’t know the difference right now. 

“You should’ve told me you were having trouble out there,” Jay fusses over him, taking the single patched blanket out from under his body and draping it over his shaking legs. 

The man can only shake his head and wrap his arms around himself. What Jay would say if he told him why he didn’t let him know of his pain… he shouldn’t sacrifice his well-being to spend time with him! Bad Tim, bad!

The pain isn’t going anywhere, though, and it was going to creep up on him regardless of what he did. 

He might as well enjoy the time he has, or it’ll slip away, beyond his desperately grasping fingertips.


	15. Predator versus Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest is not a contained space. Peace can be found there, but it cannot remain forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy this one took a while and I am very sorry it took this long, I promise it'll have been worth the wait.  
> now, onto the usual warnings!  
> possible triggers: body horror (werewolf transformation), animal death in the form of hunting for food, guns, and blood.

The transformation is a quiet one tonight.

Of course, Tim isn’t silent throughout the whole event-- it’s impossible for him to push down the agonized whimpers forever. Jay keeps to his side, though, sitting upon the mattress, legs folded and hands weaving into the trembling man’s growing hair. 

Jay needn’t look outside the window to see if the moon is full. They do keep track of the cycles, marking it down on the kitten-themed calendar Jay snatched up for ninety nine cents as a little gift. Tim has alarms set on his phone, however impossible it is to ignore his body’s warnings. There’s no way for them to miss the filling of the moon, barring a national disaster.

But Jay can look at the fangs that prick his fingertip when he touches them, and he knows that it’s time. Those wiggling ears, one of them tickling his knee, the long snout, his hair roughening into a grizzly fuzz that covers his whole chin… and more, and more, and he has a full ruff of fur hanging around his neck by the time he opens his yellowed eyes and peers up at Jay.

“Wow, look at all this,” Jay coos, walking his fingers down Tim’s head to his neck, catching a pinch of ruff. The wolf growls under his breath, not as a threat but in answer to his teasing. His tongue darts out, stroking over Jay’s wrist. “I should’ve told you to shave before this, but no, you had to be all grumbly and hide in bed the whole day, how dare you.”

Such warmth in the wide alert eyes that catch onto Jay’s. The fairy shakes his head and leans down, cradling the head in his lap and pressing his lips to Tim’s. 

Kissing him like this is difficult in its own right-- there are teeth that like to get in the way, and if he tries to push deeper, tasting him, he risks a cut open lip. Giving Tim a sample of his blood doesn’t seem like the best of ideas. 

Still, there’s no resisting him when he’s laying still and calm for him, like a good boy, and he tells him as much; good boy, good Tim. Something disrupts the air at Jay’s side when he speaks those gentle words. He glances out of the corner of his eye, not quite breaking away from the kiss, and he smiles upon realizing that Tim is wagging his goddamn tail. What a silly excuse for a tail, too, a stub of bone and thin flesh that boasts the lightest coating of fur. 

“You like being a good boy?” Jay presses on, scratching Tim under his chin. The tail beside him is waving hard now, thudding the mattress. “Are you good? Who’s good? Is it you?”

Tim bolts up from his lap and rolls onto all fours, so that he can butt his head against Jay’s shoulder and utter a series of overexcited barks. The fairy laughs aloud, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck and running his hand down his furry cheek.

“You probably secretly hate me for getting you riled up like a real dog, you’re just too nice to say anything,” Jay says to the beast in his embrace. He catches Tim’s stare and sees his answer there, a hard yes with a tinge of shame because he ought to have better control of himself… but what’s the point when it’s just Jay seeing him like this? “So I’m right. Sweet. I’ll get to make fun of you when you’re able to talk again.”

He receives one more indignant bark and a soft lick to the fingers before Jay hears it, the inevitable rumble. Tim whines at the fairy before flopping over onto his side, panting.

“You’re spoiled, you know you don’t have to hunt anymore so there you are,” Jay points out. Tim’s tongue hangs out, a knowing doggish grin upon his face. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Jay climbs to his feet, dusting off the front of his jeans. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

Tim rolls onto his back, continuing to be the happiest wolf-gone-house pet the world has ever seen. 

Upon letting himself out of the cabin, Jay pulls the huge blue jacket he has draped over his thin form closer to himself. The snow that fell the night they arrived didn’t stay for long, melting away and leaving behind patches of wet grime that squish beneath Jay’s shoes. His snow-wolf remains, protected by the vines he tied together and hung off of the cabin roof to create a canopy. 

Jay pats his creation once on the cheek for luck before delving into these woods that he has come to call home. The furry beasts that once joined him out here are away for the winter, stowed inside of tree trunks keeping cozy beneath nests of leaf debris. A few beaked ones remain, twittering at him from the highest branches as though to feign dominance through height. If he wasn’t busy, he would join them up there, just to prove a point.

“Go to bed, the sun is down,” he orders them. His voice frightens them off, sending the dark crows away in a flurry of shed feathers. 

Despite this, they seem to follow him the deeper he wanders into the woods. They hop from branch to branch, daring to venture lower and closer to him when they perceive that he isn’t a threat. No, he isn’t… not when Tim isn’t the type to chow down on a crow. Give him a bunny or a squirrel, or even a mouse, and he’s alright.

Speaking of, it seems his vine trap worked. He set it up last night by the shallowest part of the river while Tim slumbered away his aches and pains. It’s a simple thing, a delectable acorn held aloft by a weak stretch of green tied to a low branch. When this acorn is caught by grubby grabby little hands, the vine support snaps and a mass of foliage secured to the tree trunk comes crashing down. 

It worked as Jay had hoped, fast and without giving the poor thing time to consider its situation. He never wanted to be the one to go after his fellow forest brethren, but this is better than the alternative of human flesh being sought after. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to his fallen friend. Gathering it up in his arms, he takes the broken greenery of his trap and uses it to wrap up the corpse, if only so he does not have to look at it any longer. Besides, Tim may crave meat but it won’t hurt to have some leafy things in his diet.

Tucking his catch away in his jacket, he ignores the extra weight it brings to him, how it thumps lightly against his chest with each step he takes across the slick terrain. The remaining patches of snow squelch beneath these thin shoes, soaking his feet. Mud brushes against the fuzzy blue socks Tim forced him to put on before coming out to Rosswood. The combination of gross wet substances becomes too much after a time, and he has to pause and stoop over. Socks and shoes peeled off, he stands in place, rubbing sensation back into his numbing toes.

Perhaps the mud and water was the forest’s way of warning Jay that he is no longer alone. If he hadn’t stopped, he might not have heard the deep voices booming up from the outside of the thickest trees.

He falls still, not daring to twitch a single muscle. The voices are close, but they can’t be near enough for eyes to be falling upon him… right?

Pressing into the trunk standing at his side, he inches around it, until his wide alert stare lands upon a pair of large silhouettes crashing down the dying bushes beside the murmuring river. 

“Great, the perfect condition for footprints, and there ain’t no footprints to be fuckin’ found, isn’t that beautiful?”

“Shut up, it was your idea to come track that thing down by following its footprints.”

“You’re the one who said it was a good idea!”

“Well, I…”

Jay’s heart strikes up a painful beat against his chest. Now he knows those voices, has a face to put to them. They may be scruffier now, beards filled in and puffy dark jackets rounding out their forms, but he /knows/ them, these two were the ones from the bar. Their faces hang in his memory, fogged up by the alcohol that was wetting his vision at the time but he saw enough. There’s no doubt in his mind as to who he is looking at.

He doesn’t need to hear anything further. 

In his mind, there are no other options. He shrinks, orders his bones and skin to crackle and fold in until he is the size of the squirrel that was in his pockets. Tim’s meal will have to wait here until he deems the forest safe again. His outfit lays in a puddle where he was standing, and he leaves it behind in a frantic rush down the way he came. 

“What the hell is that?!”

Faster, faster! He is a blue crystalline orb zipping into the night, refusing to be seen but he /is/ seen, he can hear the thud, thud, thud of their feet chasing him down. Jay rises toward the heavens, every breath akin to swallowing icy razors and shoving them down his lungs but he isn’t stopping for the devil himself.

Those voices follow him, until he is above the branches and out of sight (right? right?!). Up here, he can see over the whole forest, including where the trees break apart and the cabin appears, a pinnacle of safety and heat.

He dives, descending upon it. Jay doesn’t even bother with the door, slipping beneath it instead.

The full brunt of his brutal flight hits him there, pinning him to the floor. His skin and insides are equally raw; how can the wind scrape him up, worse than the sidewalk?

Jay hears Tim coming rather than sees him. Lifting his head? Now? Impossible. His wolf whines, demanding the food he was promised, until he realizes how still Jay is. Hot breath rolls like a wave over Jay’s trembling body, bringing his nerves to life. It’s just what he needs, allowing him to push up from the ground without collapsing onto his front again.

“I’m sorry,” Jay tries to say. The cold pressure trapped inside him slurs his speech into a garbled mess that he’s sure Tim can’t understand, but it clearly doesn’t matter to him. Tim kneels beside him, scooping him up in his hands and cradling him like he’s glass. Shock flickers across those big yellow eyes-- and Jay finds himself pressed into the soothing heat of the beast’s chest. 

Staying here and letting himself drift away is more than tempting; it’s all Jay could want when he’s broken down to this point. But he has his responsibilities, he has to do what he was brought here for, get up, up, paw at the wolf until he brings you away and peers down at you, nose to tiny, tiny nose.

“There’s someone out there,” Jay says, slow as he can, dragging the words out so that his frozen insides don’t warp them. He takes in a deep breath and grips at Tim’s thumb, squeezing it urgently. “We can’t go outside tonight while they’re still here. I lost my clothes and your dinner getting away but they’ll both have to wait… okay?”

He’s prepared for a childish display of fussing over the loss of food and maybe a few growls for leaving Tim’s nice socks out in the elements.

It never comes. The wolf’s brow furrows for a brief second, a frustrated little ‘boof’ leaving his chest, but nothing beyond that. He is careful in setting Jay down, placing him on the floor again before moving on all fours to the pile of clothing dropped beside the stove to keep them warm. Pawing through the mess of shirts and pants, he pulls out the pink sweater Jay loves so much, covered in his own glitter, followed by a pair of huge grey sweatpants. 

“God, thank you,” Jay utters with a shudder. He wills himself to the size Tim is accustomed to seeing him in, and he takes the offered clothing, pulling it on and sighing as he feels maybe a bit closer to normalcy. 

His wolf nods, before making a move back toward the mattress. He tramples out a circle on top of it, cozying it up for himself before nestling down in a curled ball. One yellow eye peeks out from behind his arm, apparently expecting Jay to join him.

However wonderful the prospect of collapsing beside Tim may be, his gut instinct won’t leave him be. It must be his fight-or-flight instincts, refusing to settle even after the danger has passed.

But.

But… 

He can’t tear his eyes from the door. He’s frozen to the spot, hands crooked at his sides. Blue energy trickles from his fingers, wrapping into itself until a pair of orbs are floating in each of his hands. Danger, danger, the back of his head buzzes, a personal alarm whirring just for him.

Tim bolts up, lifting his head. His ears prick up, eyes huge and alert. The hair on the back of his head raises, hackled up, creating the illusion of an even larger beast. A beast prepared for anything, for the worst.

The wolf’s reaction clinches it for Jay. They’re not out of the clear.

Jay sends the door swinging open without touching it and darts past the threshold, peering out into the night. At first glance, it would seem they’re alone, as per usual. Not a single bat peeping, not an errant dog to be heard crying into the gloom or a rat skittering across the crumbled dead leaves.

Something crunches and breathes in deep, and a faint click--

Tim’s snarl from behind him is drowned away in the thunderous bang. Snow bursts into the air from the false wolf Jay crafted, blasted apart by the bullet that strikes it square in the face. Wood splinters apart behind where it stands, the snow failing to slow the projectile in any way. 

An acrid and bitter stench billows into the air and chokes Jay’s delicate lungs. He coughs, stumbling back and feeling Tim behind him, hair bushed up and muscles tense to the touch.

Another crack, and the snowman falls to the ground completely, broken down to nothing. 

“Go!” Jay demands of his wolf-- he knows exactly who they’re here for, and it isn’t him. Tim whines behind him, trying to nudge him aside so he may reach the oncoming threat, but Jay stands his ground. “Tim, please, go!”

The wolf barks, fusses, he won’t fucking move no matter what Jay tells him to do and it’s clear there’s only one way to get him to get to safety. He has to turn his back on the hulking silhouettes stomping ever closer for one awful moment, perhaps one of the worst in his life. Both hands raised, he shoves them to Tim’s chest, and pushes.

He appeals to the wolf’s flight instinct, eats away at the fight side of it until it’s somewhere where Tim can’t get at it. Jay sees the change in his limbs, has him falling to all fours. Not a second later, Tim is rushing behind the cabin, dark fur blending with the shadows of the evening.

Despite Tim’s forcible change of heart, Jay feels those yellowed eyes fixed upon him the entire way, up until he’s out of Tim’s view and he’s alone, standing in the threshold.

Good. 

“What the hell? What’d we shoot? I thought for sure…”

The pair of strangers approach, and pause not too far off from the cabin to stare at it, apparently shocked. Jay would scoff if he wasn’t faced with a pair of guns; they never came deep enough into the woods to discover this little home here? 

It doesn’t take long for them to notice him standing there. He puffs out his chest, stands at his tallest, and still, they hulk over him, twice as large on their own and more so with their padded winter jackets. 

“Hey, kid, you live here?” the larger of the two asks, his casual tone painfully forced. He fingers his rifle, keeps it close to his side. Jay nods, eyes on the stranger’s companion. He wanders to the remains of the snowman they shot down, stooping down and gathering up a ball of it in his hands.

“Did ya build this, bud?” he asks, lifting the snow in indication. Something is blocking Jay’s throat, making it impossible to speak. He nods again. The four eyes upon him narrow in suspicion. “Funny. It looked an awful lot like a wolf. We’ve been lookin’ for a wolf, actually. Big one. Like the one you built.”

“And if you’re making sculptures of it, ya know what it looks like,” the man in front of Jay accuses. Yes, it’s an accusation, he knows exactly what it means if Jay is able to create a likeness of Rosswood’s so called monster. He was close enough to it to see it in detail, to make the snow-wolf that was torn down in less than two seconds.

There might as well be a giant boulder hovering over Jay’s head, secured into place by a single thin rope. The pressure upon him is strong and threatening to crush him to the floor. Soon as these men came up to him, though, his brain went blank. What to do, what to do, get them away from here, away from Tim, from him, from their home… 

“He’s blue, he’s… he’s glowing, like that thing we followed here… you, fuckin’ wake up!” the taller of the two demands. He jabs his rifle’s butt into Jay’s stomach, not a full attack but Jay stumbles, catching his balance by the doorway. “You know somethin’ about the monster and the ball thing that we saw, don’t you? Spit it out, you’re compromisin’ this town’s safety! You really don’t give a shit, do you? /Do you?/ Fuckin’ weirdo, livin’ out in the wilderness on his own…”

He babbles on, along with his almost-twin, slinging curse after curse at Jay. The guns are right there, they could lift them anytime, but surely, they wouldn’t shoot him just for not talking, right? Right? He has no idea, he doesn’t know who these people are, but what he does know is that they’re walking away now and they’re furious, they’re going around the side of the house and who knows how far Tim got, he isn’t the quietest of walkers and-- and the idea comes to him, he needs to keep them here, and there’s only one way that they will stay.

“Get the fuck off’a me!” 

Jay doesn’t chase after them on foot but by air, darting after them and seeing the realization in their eyes. Perhaps they put two and two together, he was the blue orb that guided them here, but he doesn’t let them think on it long. One hand upon each face, blocking out their vision and he /shoves/ the image into their minds: he isn’t a flying hermit in the middle of nowhere. He is the beast that has been wreaking havoc around the forest. The beast is here now, before them, and they don’t need to investigate anywhere else, he is /here/, he /is/ the beast.

There’s another click, he blinks-- the world rings out, and he’s down.

He doesn’t realize that he has fallen until the hot pain ripples up his stomach and a second wave of it hits his spine, right where he hit it. 

Stupid, stupid, Jay wasn’t thinking for fuck’s sake, he just wanted them to get away from Tim and so he brought all the focus to himself and now he’s shaking, gasping, clutching at his stomach. It’s wet, sticky, there’s screaming and it could be his own but it might be the strangers that did this, they did this, they hurt him. 

“Fuckin’ got ‘em! Wait ‘til everyone sees! We got the monster!”

Another shot, a celebratory one right into the air, and Jay still flinches, waits for his flesh to burn and sizzle. Something sour eeks up his throat and he chokes, torn between clutching his neck and the lavender liquid seeping from his insides. 

“Get ‘em, pick ‘em up, I wanna good look at that fur. Gotta be worth somethin’, right?”

No, no! Struggling means moving and movement means another metallic casing of fire burning into his insides, but touching, no, don’t touch him, please.

And-- a crunch, a faint sound that only Jay hears, his senses gone acute.

Tim is here. He sits beyond the view of these men, hunched down onto his front, peering out from behind a tree trunk. One good jump and he’d be on top of Jay, protecting him from the hands that brought him harm.

One of the men is hunching down beside Jay. Close. He could see Tim if he turned his head the right way.

Jay widens his eyes at Tim, pushing an urgent plea to the front of his mind. Don’t. Come. Closer. He shakes his head, the slightest twitch from side to side. No. Don’t. Come. Closer.

There is no escaping the hands that come to rest upon him, gathering him by the scruff and hoisting him to sit upright. A gurgling shriek carves patterns into his lungs, but he keeps it down, for the sake of himself, for the sake of the true wolf beyond their reach.

No more hunters here, there need to be no more hunters here-- and these men don’t need to be hunters, they don’t need to tote guns and stomp through the forests.

They don’t need to believe they are hunters, they don’t need to be. 

These thoughts are anything but clear to Jay, his head filled to the brim with overflowing static, but they are the thoughts he pushes into their brains. He hefts his arm up, using all of the strength he has left, and he shoves it into the head of the man hovering over him. The green eyes staring him down squint when they see his movement, fading back to relaxation a mere second later. His friend is next, lifting his rifle to take out the supposed beast that he realizes is still living. Jay needs to only reach out and touch his boot, and the rifle is immediately lowered.

“The hell’re we doin’ out here, Bruce? We gotta get home before our wives worry.”

Jay doesn’t know which one of them says it, nor does he care. He wills himself down to the smallest size he can manage without screaming and slips away, dragging himself by his hands. The cabin door is so much further away now, but he can’t /walk/ there, he’ll be seen, they’ll try to take him to a hospital and they’ll be jailed for attacking him, they didn’t know, they don’t know better, fuck, he /hates/ humans, hates them in their ignorance, but he mostly hates himself.

A hot mouth closes around him, scooping him up. He would protest, if he could find the breath to without tearing himself in two. The cabin light shines past the teeth that contain him, none of them daring to brush up against his delicate flesh. 

Tim deposits him onto a cushy surface-- the mattress. He doesn’t dare to stretch himself back out, lest he pull the wound further open, but he is small and Tim is large, /huge/. His breath is like a harsh wind gusting against his body. He curls onto his side, trembling. That must get the hint across to Tim; the wind comes to a sudden stop.

“I’m sorry,” Jay sputters out. Tim probably can’t hear him, for fuck’s sake, his voice even tinier than his body now-- he can’t shut up, though, now that he’s managed to open his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t know what to do, it was happening so fast and I couldn’t /think/. If I wasn’t so stupid, this wouldn’t have happened, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The heat that was hovering over him isn’t there anymore. 

(maybe he’s dying, Death has sucked the warmth from his already cold form and they are coming to wrap their boney fingers around his throat)

(breathe, breathe, breathe, Tim needs him, he can’t go, he can’t)

He just about jumps out of his skin when fingers really do descend upon him. Instead of choking him though, they press something to his stomach-- a thick leaf, torn off of one of the vines lying useless around the room. Prying open his heavy eyes, he sees Tim is back, smoothing the leaf out and looking over him with gleaming eyes.

Tears crash down onto the mattress, leaving soaking puddles around Jay. He can’t bring himself to be alarmed; his wolf is crying. His brain commands his arm to move, so that he might be able to touch Tim’s muzzle, but he can’t find the strength necessary. 

A sob bubbles up out of his aching chest, and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he utters again, and he opens his mouth to keep apologizing, because there’s nothing else he can think to say. 

A fleshy warmth closes off his lips, cutting off his words. He stares at the finger Tim has tenderly placed to his mouth, and he has to cry because he does understand, Tim thinks he has nothing to be sorry for.

This is all his fault, though. He dies? It’s his fault, for not thinking, for not being clever enough, for either of them. He failed the people who might die under Tim’s hand, no longer held back by his touch. 

He failed Tim, though, he failed his only friend and he wants to tell Tim he shouldn’t be this tender to somebody who has fucked up his future.

But the finger upon his lips isn’t moving, so he lays silent, tries not to breathe and tear the gushing wound open. The leaf is beginning to soak through, but Tim is keeping a close eye on it, watching him like a hawk. 

The door is still open. White flakes flutter down, blowing into the room and melting the instant they touch the glowing warm candlelight. 

Jay kisses the wolf’s finger, and closes his eyes.

(I’m sorry.)


	16. Desperate Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is out of options. There is nothing left in the realm that he and Jay share that could save the fairy. 
> 
> He has to turn to the human world for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a long wait. Sorry about that. But we're rounding up, guys. It's not the end /yet/. I've split this chapter into two since it was so long.  
> Trigger warnings for blood, needles, and potentially, bereavement.

(killer, killer, killer)

he lingers close. provides what he can. warmth, from his strong and hairy body, wrapped tenderly around the shaking and bleeding creature. comfort, with gentle nudges of his nose when his fairy utters a helpless cry of pain, from twitching the wrong way or daring to stretch his wound any which way. food, of course, bring him the greenest blades of grass to nibble on and flower petals to keep up his strength.

(killer, not a caretaker, blood upon your teeth, you hunger for the crunch of bone and the tearing of flesh)

his fairy is cold. the vines that are being used in lieu of bandages are changed out often. a pile of them lies beside the mattress, soiled, warped from a rich green to a deathly black. there is dried violet upon the beast’s fingertips.

he has not had the chance to leave the cabin and wash himself off. having his jaw painted red and thick from the delicious hunt is different, it means victory, nourishment, he has what he wants. 

translucent violet, hanging in strings between his fingers, dripping onto the floor and staining the wood, that is not what he wants. he never wanted this. the true side of him, the one that has control, he didn’t see this-- what he saw between himself and the fairy was peace. he was good about keeping distance between himself and the hunter trails.

and now that they found him, the fairy did what he was told: make sure civilians aren’t hurt.

but instead of having it be at the cost of the beast’s life, it was--

(his own)

(this is because of you)

(KILLER)

more than once over these ten hours, the beast has gone after the bullet. he saw jay clutch at his torso, claw at the wound, and he joined in, clumsy hands pawing at the broken skin. every time, he thought, maybe, his claws wouldn’t get in the way, maybe this time he’ll figure it out and knock the metal from where metal oughtn’t be. 

if anything, jay is bleeding more.

if the bullet were gone, maybe this would stop. maybe jay could press his hands to his own wound and suck the skin back into place. return the burnt flesh, raw and new, soft, baby-like. 

but neither of them possess the nimble fingers required for the removal. jay does, maybe, but if he so much as lifts a finger, the beast darts in and barks, swatting his hand back down. the risk of making it worse, after he went and tore his insides up with his claws…

(killer claws, killer teeth, your blood is killer blood)

as jay drifts into the world’s most unrestful slumber, the beast rises from the mattress and leaves him be, careful to tuck the blankets around his shoulders and cover his chest with a double layer of vines. his stomach is rumbling but the thought of leaving the cabin and thus leaving his fairy to face his pain alone… the beast sweats, his heart in his throat.

how long do fairies live? do they age at all, when they come into the world and a year later, they resemble a full grown human adult? 

if they don’t age as human beings do, does that mean time cannot kill them?

what can kill them?

these are the thoughts that will lead nowhere. they form a vicious whirlpool inside of the beast, spinning his half-formed thoughts and mashing them together until they create a massive unreadable storm. it sits in his brain, clouding the way and stopping him in his tracks. 

he comes to a pause, and he realizes then that he has been pacing, anxious feet and hands pattering to and fro from the front of the tiny home to the back again. his long nails have left jagged marks in the floors, marking his lack of progress. 

amazingly, his fairy stays asleep, as though he has frozen time in the single space he is taking up.

the beast shakes himself, dizzying his head and nearly throwing himself to the ground. this is no way to behave while his fairy needs him the most. 

he needs him… to do what, exactly?

obviously, he needs the bullet gone, but the beast need only look to the crust of dried blood upon his fingers to know why he cannot do that. he provides bandages, heat, soothing, what else can he do?

as though demanding his attention, the metal stove crackles especially loud, the wood inside snapping from the fire the beast laid there once the fairy was back to his normal size. the fairy’s beloved tea kettle sits beside the stove on the floor, a cluster of plastic cups containing great amounts of colorful ground up plants the beast has no name for.

yesterday, the fairy stood there, uninjured, head high and eyes kind while he stirred in milk to the boiled tea. he approached the beast-- him, when he was himself, his true self-- on hands and knees, holding out the chipped porcelain mug and telling him it would be alright in a few hours, now drink this, you’ll fall asleep.

the pain that riddled his breaking bones dissipated fast because of what the fairy gave him. he couldn’t imitate the exact recipe, he has no idea what went into it, but…

he heaves his upper body up, returning to the bipedal stance his human self is more familiar with. the stove hisses at his approach; he pauses, waiting for it to spit when he opens the metal rung door.

it never does, so he takes that as an okay to continue. he stoops over, taking the kettle with clumsy hands, paws? hands, certainly, he has fingers, he can make them work (so why do they resist his demands stop fiddling with the handle put it down stop shaking stop shaking /stop/)-- the kettle rings out upon meeting the stovetop. the wolf whips his head around, holding his breath, waiting to see his fairy’s eyes open and immediately gloss over in pain.

nothing. jay hugs onto the pillow he grabbed tighter, as though he might be dreaming of a more comfortable bed, a quieter time.

back to the kettle, then, so he can wake to something good and warm. there is leftover water there, perfect amount for a cup. the beast scrabbles for the cups, the effort to stoop down placing too much strain on his back. at this weight, it’s impossible to pretend he has the loose body of a human; he can move with grace and control. as a beast, he cannot pretend that he can carry himself, that his bones are in the right area, that his muscled arms and legs aren’t constantly full of acid from holding his forcibly growing form...

need to focus, toss the contents of every cup into the kettle and hope to god that’s how it works. does he stir it, mash up the shredded grass and leaves until they melt? do they melt on their own? burn away from the fire stroking the underside of the kettle? whatever it is, the smell it creates is like none the beast has ever inhaled before. he gags, a smog cloud dribbling down his throat and into his lungs. 

he cannot-- he swats out, pure instinct, attack that which is ailing him and it will go away. lukewarm water splashes onto the floor and spreads out, the kettle following and clattering as loud as it possibly can, the herbs inside tumbling out in a wet globby mess. 

the snarl rips from his chest before he can swallow it down. back down on his hands and knees, he digs his nails into the mess he has made, swiping at it, sending the grass flying into the air. the kettle is kicked aside, sailing through the air and crashing into the wall. 

(killer beast, good for nothing, not a caretaker, not a lover, /monster/--)

his throat aches when he emerges from his tantrum, ears pricked at the faint noise behind him. a whimper, a whine-- his fairy. oh.

“Tim…”

the soft mutter of the name his human half possesses sits upon him, too hard on his undeserving ears. tim, who is tim, tim would know how to fix this, he /is/ tim but tim is not here, tim would be able to use his hands and feet and carry jay to safety, his fairy, his poor, poor fairy.

“What’d you do? Everything’s a mess.”

blue eyes flutter under the shine of the candlelight, squinting at the strands of grass that hang over the beast’s face. he swipes a hand over his hair, shaking the rest off of his fingers. 

opening his mouth, he attempts to find the words necessary for an apology. they hang out of his reach though, the vibrations of his throat emerging instead as muted barks, or halfhearted growls. he snaps his jaw shut, giving up and choosing to approach the fairy, pressing his nose into his neck in the hopes that it will work as a silent sorry.

the fairy’s skin is cold. clammy.

despite his pain, he lifts an arm to place around the beast’s neck, ice fingers stroking his fur from his face. 

“Were you thirsty…? I can try to make you something, if some dirt got in it it’ll just add flavor, here, just, let me.”

the hand in his hair grips, and he uses him as leverage, pushing up off of the mattress--

no, no, no! a series of sharp barks, right in his ear, and the fairy is lying on his back again, no longer struggling to push himself to sit up. he stares at his beast with huge eyes, startled.

“Tim, I can handle it, I, I think I can, but--”

this time, a snarl, bursting from the beast’s chest and scraping his throat on the way out, scaring even him as it pushes his fairy into laying still, good, good fairy. he glances down at the bundle of leaves tied around his midsection, breathing steady as he can when purple is leaking in and coloring it dark.

“…maybe you’re right.”

of course he’s right. he’s watched the fairy bleed for hours upon hours now. his tail lashes against the floor, thump, thump.

the fairy’s face screws up at the sight of the violet when it seeps through to the mattress. the sight of him, eyes blank, lips set… it doesn’t settle right in the beast’s chest. 

"If we can't remove it, Tim, we're gonna need someone who can, and I..."

he stands, frozen to the spot, waiting for the last foot to drop. this is it. his fairy is accepting death.

they cannot seek out more nimble fingers for the job, not without explanation and a demand that they rush to the hospital.

hospitals mean doctors, doctors that recognize blood should not be purple, that humans do not drop glittering stars wherever they walk. 

but the beast can recognize when they've run out of options. he can see when they have nothing to lose. he has resorted to nibbling tree bark, jumping for scraps in the trash cans of humans that lived close to the forest. those desolate times, when the birds and the small fuzzy creatures he relies on for survival have fled the trees, he understood desperation.

this is far more important than any of those efforts combined.

he presses to the floor, stomach brushing the ground. the fairy remains still, eyes shut now as the pain takes hold of him, breath falling from his lips in shuddering intervals. it isn't until that there are arms looping around his shoulders that he stirs, whining aloud at the strain while his wolf apologizes from within: sorry, sorry, you do not deserve more pain from me, this is my fault and there is no need to make it worse by my own hands, paws, claws. 

he fits snug on top of his strong back, either knee hanging off the beast's sides. 

"Tim, no, no, what are you..."

Jay never gets further than that. his head falls. he shudders again, and falls still. 

the beast senses that time itself stood still then; he counts the seconds, one, two, five, seven...

only when Jay's sweet shaking exhale rustles the fur at the back of his neck does the beast let his own breath go.

sure that his fairy will stay still for him, he takes that as his cue and bursts off into a run, claws clicking harsh against the wood floors then kicking up dirt when he slips out the door.

there are no creatures, there is no man, no force that could stand in his way. 

his fairy will live. 

\--

The world is made up of greens and violets.

Jay has never been to the sea, never crossed the shore, ocean teasing at his bare toes. There are thousands, millions of pictures of that vast emerald bordering on sapphire creature, a monster in size and power and an artist’s painting in its beauty.

This is as close as he will ever come to it, at least in his mind. Green rushing at his sides, over his head, surrounding him-- he is underwater, the pressure of the great water hissing straight into his ear for his attention. 

Today will be his last day, surely-- the violet fish he sees jumping from the breaking emerald liquid aren’t true fish. They reek of his own blood, coppery and disgusting. He winces, flinches when one splatters against his own flesh, upon the wound that they are birthed from. Jay would cry out, if he had the breath to.

This rocky sea fails to give him a single chance to catch a lungful of air, though. Thud, thud, thud, against his chest, his heart, the thumping moving faster than his heart can keep up with. It may knock the vital organ from his chest altogether, if a wave strikes him the wrong way, or perhaps the right way-- it would bring an end to the ripping and tearing of his flesh, the hot metal that carves and burns a deeper and deeper path inside of him.

Something light, radiant is bobbing ahead of him, emerging from the waters, unaffected by their rocking and swaying about. The shape rounds out at its top, becomes jagged along the rest of its body, a living shaking star? Death has a sense of humor, taking on the form of such an essential and life-giving body.

Too bad he can’t find the room to laugh.

Jay’s head is heavy, aching from the constant rocking. He presses his face into the warmth of his vessel, a creature he can’t find a name for, so familiar to him… he ought to have a name. The vessel says nothing. 

If anything, it moves faster, flees at the sight of the rising star. Numb hands are useless for taking grip of vessels and steering them, driving them toward the light that might bring Jay relief. Why does it run from what Jay thinks would be best?

But, no, it wouldn’t be best, would it, to die and leave Tim, yes, Tim, this was for Tim, he has to stay, he has to live and protect him and /be with him/. 

There are true seas to behold, from afar, from a safe point, and true fish to touch his fingers to, stroke along their scales. Places to visit, people to meet, wonders his eyes and trembling hands desperately wish to discover…

Relief, from a hot pain he has never experienced, versus zest, the beauties that fairies are enamored with, the love he was a part of, is a part of.

Letting go, hanging on, letting go, hanging on, he is a pendulum, swinging and fighting gravity in his desperation. 

He’s sleeping.

Nothing pops or winks before his eyes to alert him to this fact, he isn’t jolted awake, no. 

There is a scream in his ears, a piercing sound that grips him by the scruff and tugs him out of the sea of his own mind. He screams back, fighting, no, no, he’s better here, it’s harsh out there, leave me be, but his body has made up its mind. 

The ocean parts for him, water trickling away and leaving him to sink down onto a strong back, firm under his broken form. He runs his hand across the warmth of the surface, strokes the fuzz beneath his palm.

Tim.

Bones raise, muscles flex, Tim is nothing but a tense fist and power. That scream belongs to him, a howl that takes hold of the air and rips it open, a curtain tugged apart by a pair of shaking fingers. Howl after howl, draining his lungs of oxygen, filling the evening with himself, all of himself, all of his heart.

Jay opens his mouth to speak. Nothing. Nothing is left for him to say. 

He opens his eyes. There is nothing to say but much to see, and he can see he is far from home, from the cabin where he thought he and Tim were safe, tucked neatly away from the prying and narrowed eyes of humans. This place is familiar to his eyes but the associations escape him, hover beyond his grasping fingertips. Where has Tim taken him, how does he know this place?

Mouth open, again, try to speak, utters a questioning squeak from the back of his throat that goes unheard under the ruckus Tim is creating. Weak brittle fingers dig into the beast’s shoulders, begging for attention, why, why, what is this? What are they standing under a streetlight for, the bulb’s dim glow proving too much for his stinging eyes? Buildings, bricks, muted stars eaten away by the pollution of humanity. 

Voices are joining in with Tim's-- or, no, they rail against him, yelling from high above that someone ought to shut that dog up. Others plead to an entity that does not exist to please, please stop hurting their dog, or they'll have to call the cops.

"Forest," Jay mutters into his beast's ear. They cannot be here. Being here, under these curious wide eyes, that invites trouble like the hunters, or worse, there could be worse out there that Jay is too weak, too fucking slow-witted to defend Tim from. 

Too many eyes, hundreds, or perhaps less-- Jay's skin tingles regardless of the number. They burn him, pick him apart into pieces, bloody chunk after bloody chunk. Rubberneckers, from above, waiting, watching, sure to pounce.

And, in spite of the stares that Tim is pulling to him, he continues to rip his lungs to bits. His voice pushes beyond its limit, ugly and painful. The howl is no longer a howl but a broken screech that falls harsh on Jay's ears.

White brilliant light pops in front of Jay's vision, giving no announcement to its arrival. Black spots twinkle upon his pupils while his ears ring as though his body may be letting go of every single sense he has left before death can descend upon him. 

He moves. Not of his own will, not that Jay can do such a thing but Tim is warm and safe and the last thing that makes sense now. Numb fingers fight past the tingling to grasp onto the beast’s ruff for dear life, until they slide free as well. His back meets the ground, careful, gentle, so gentle, he is glass against a brick floor. Yellow eyes peer down into his, something like an apology in them before they wink out of existence, and he is alone again.

Alone in the city, under the eyes of a hundred glaring humans, pinned to the ground by their discontent towards his existence-- he was always doomed to die here, wasn’t he? Is it revenge for daring to take their wills and wishes into his own glimmering hands?

“Sir? Was that your dog? Sir-- oh, oh shit.”

This voice is new and it comes from far above. Jay blinks away the spots inside his eyes and squints past the night to see a dark woman, voice deep and sharp with authority. He covers his face, hides away-- it’s what he knows.

“Janey, get a stretcher out here! We got a problem!”

A second voice, lighter, though bearing the same amount of command, behind him, he can’t get his head to quit swimming but he hears her, she asks what’s going on but it’s drowned out by the slap of her own footsteps. More swearing, and-- hands, hands on him, touching him, covering his wound, no, no, /no/. 

“Sir, stop, we’re trying to help!”

How can Jay stop when humans have never been so fucking eager to help before? Why now, when it doesn’t matter, when it’s too late? If he could push his will on top of theirs, they might fuck off and let him die in peace, but that would require energy he doesn’t have. Still, he strains, eyes screwing shut, fists clenched, toes curled--

“Blood’s everywhere, might bleed out, we gotta be fast about this. Go, go!”

Moving again. No fur, though, no warmth, thin cloth taking him away from the ground and the night floats away before his eyes. Searing yellow light shoots into his face, blinding him completely. For a moment, he’s gone, swimming in his own skull and then the voices return, slamming into his ears, clap, clap.

“We might have to operate right away, I don’t think he has much longer if we take our time here--”

“Prep this one, then, I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”

Something is inside him, pricked through his flesh. Cold liquid flowing through his veins. A hand on his face; no, it’s plastic, hooked over his mouth and nose and tastes like the river when it rushes up into the back of his throat, to his head. He breathes in and the plastic is fogged, the stale aroma washing over him and drowning his senses. 

The voices from before have shapes, shadows that hulk over him and fail to bring him the reassurance they promise him: ‘you’re gonna be fine, don’t worry, you’re in good hands, we’ve seen worse cases that have pulled through’…

There are tears in Jay’s eyes. He’s held down by a strong hand pressing against his chest.

He blinks, an odd aroma crashing into his mouth, the taste of ink upon his tongue.

Black. The ink leaks up into his vision, and the night finds him once again, swallowing him whole. 

\--

“There. Keep your head down, sweetheart, you won’t be needing to move for a good while.”

Swirling colors, swirling voices, the voices are colors, the colors have voices. The pain remains, a thick cold stone cutting into his abdomen. A beautiful cloud hangs over him. It holds his hand.

“Tim…”

The first word out of the fairy’s mouth, and it tastes wrong. Too far away. Too much longing. He should be there. Not here. There. With his beast. His Tim.

“Is that your name? Are you Tim?”

Lovely cloud sure likes to speak. Clouds speak now, that’s not the most surprising thing he has encountered in his lifetime. This one stands out amongst any other clouds Jay might have met in his lifetime; it is lavender, thick and like cream, he would lick if Tim handed it to him and said it was candy. The undersides rumble and flicker a bright white, like it might be holding a cluster of lightning within itself. 

“Can I call you Tim?”

The cloud’s voice is thunder, the sort that one hears on a late summer evening just before the downpour rumbles in and washes off the sweat of the land. He cannot remember the last time he felt that rain. There is snow, there is the river lapping at his knees, but the rain tapping him upon the head, shoulders, insistent…

“I know you’re tired now, sweetheart, but we’ve been wanting to figure out who we’re dealing with and we want to know who to call so they can come take care of you. Who is Tim?”

This cloud enjoys talking, but they seem to enjoy questions even more. It would be annoying if he could figure out where his capacity for processing annoyance has gone. Maybe he dropped it. The floor is moving, growing, he ought to get on his hands and knees and be sure it didn’t take his heart-- the cloud touches him, it is warmer than he would expect a cloud to be. 

“You shouldn’t move, you’ll break the stitches! Okay, okay, maybe you, uh, yeah, you’re definitely not in any state to be answering questions, I don’t know why that asshole sent me in here to talk to you, not like he can wait a /little/ longer to find out where he’ll be getting his pay from…”

Thunder, wave after wave of it, crashing against the fairy’s pounding skull-- it putters away, as the cloud storms off, leaving nothing but a chill in its wake.

He shivers.

What is his name?


	17. Last Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans do the things they do and think that it's for the best, and perhaps for them, it is-- for beings like Tim and Jay, those things are why they have to hide away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. Came a long way.  
> I hope it's been a good journey for you as it was for me. Who knows what the future promises for these two, though. :)
> 
> Trigger warnings: Needles, hospital environment + all that entails, medical malpractice, dehumanization, and blood. There are likely others I missed, and I'd appreciate it if they were pointed out to me so I could add 'em here.

He floats.

This isn’t a bed, it’s a ship, those strange cars that can drive over the ocean waves, no tires necessary. Buoyancy, a stiff breeze, some balance, and those hybrid cars are ready to sail. 

Rocking, left, right, he clutches his stomach and wills it to stay in place, a monster creeping up from inside of it and up his throat. No, not a monster, nausea, green, with claws that dig into his insides and cause him to cough. Still a monster.

“We need to find out who he is right /now/, Jane. You don’t know what the hell I saw in that operating room. That… thing isn’t human.”

The ship has sailors on it. He cannot see them, only hear them. Such a peaceful thing, this rocking; why would he open his eyes when he is constantly seconds away from slumber?

“He’s just a young boy! You saw him, Sean, he can’t be a day over twenty one! And you’re calling him a /thing/? Everybody talks shit about you around the hospital, but I had no idea you were this much of a prick--”

“No, you don’t understand.”

These sailors are noisy. They ought to be doing their jobs. Instead they’re outside of the fairy’s room, shooting the shit, talking like there isn’t a journey to be made or a roaring ocean sloshing in his skull to be conquered. 

“When we moved that mess of leaves wrapped around him, we… we saw organs, that seemed to function like a human’s, but, they weren’t shaped the same and, and his blood, just, come with me. Come look. Please. You need to see.”

“You need to be doing your fucking job instead of prying for answers when that boy can’t give us any.”

The cloud is talking. He likes the cloud right now. Funny, he didn’t know clouds could be sailors, but if that’s what a cloud wants to be, then it should be allowed to live out its dreams.

He always dreamt of seeing the ocean in a place beyond the old library.

\--

There are no clouds.

There are no boats, no oceans, no sailors.

There is himself, Jay, the fairy, lying awake in a bed he doesn’t remember climbing into, and a hot disease seated in his stomach, branding his flesh and eating away at it. He wants to scream and pull at his body, climb right out of his skin so that he can escape his nerve endings. 

But he is held down, not by a cloud’s peculiar hands, but by cuffs, linking him to the bars that stand at each side of his bed. His wrists throb, fingers turned cold and stiff, marble. No amount of twisting and wriggling brings him relief. 

Liquid pumps into him, through his elbow. Though he does not actually feel it, he imagines he can when he looks at the needle pushed into his flesh, and he shudders at the phantom sensation. Shudders at the foreign objects inside of him, holding him together, manmade, not his vines, not the forest.

(Sometimes his dear forest cannot bring him the help he needs.)

The night is old, crawling on its hands and knees away from the brilliance of the rising sun. Glass separates him from a never-ending drop, one that he could face with no trouble, if he could feel his wings. Outside this window, curtains left sitting parted, he sees a familiar town, trailing into a city, a castle underground which has pillars that rise up from the dirt in the form of what humans call skyscrapers. 

There were metal instruments inside of him, steel glinting off of a miniature sun captured within the confines of a lamp. Pulling him back together. Pricking at him. Pushing at unfamiliar shapes and meats.

Jay shuts his eyes. Imagines his vines in the room with him. Creeping in, undoing these cuffs bracing him to the bed, bringing him back to where he belongs.

They would keep him safe, until they brought him to true safety.

This is a hospital. He didn’t realize it while there was blood pouring from his body, but Tim had good reasoning in bringing him here. Covering the wound wasn’t going to work forever. Regardless of what the humans who touched him inside might think, they have done what needed to be done.

Jay lifts his blankets, looks down at his body, shielded from the cold only by a thin paper sheet that might be considered a gown if it had any thought put into its creation. Careful not to tear his lone bit of clothing with his shaking fingers, he lifted up where it lays upon his collarbone, peering down at his flesh.

The skin where the bullet tore him apart is sewn together, black stitches, and the skin is raw, as though he grew it while he was asleep. Without the metal present to inhibit his body from performing what it does on its own, he is like a new fairy. 

Albeit, a fairy in pain, there is no way around that. The nerves are still firing, not quite receiving the message that all is well now and they need not worry anymore.

Though, while his nerve endings do not need to fuss over him, he himself needs to be worrying.

That man with the shining tools saw what another human should never see. They peered inside of him, did their job, which is fine and well, but they didn’t leave it there. 

He remembers what the man said. He cannot stay here. 

These cuffs are not impossible to break, surely. He can strain, and loosen himself, turn his wrist this way-- the bones inside crack aloud, a wordless demand for him to cease and desist. 

If Tim were here, he could probably use his own two hands to break them in half…

“Oh good. It’s awake now.”

Footsteps approach Jay, heavy boots clomping against a tile floor from out in the hospital halls. Two pairs of footsteps-- a second person emerges from behind the silhouette that throws a shadow over the doorway. They hang back, staring him down, watching.

“…Sean, are you sure this is a good idea? It looks human enough, like I’m with you on this but I don’t think we should--”

“Shut up, I already told you, we don’t know what it could be carrying. It could affect the other patients. Or us. We can’t keep it here anymore.”

It.

They can’t possibly mean-- but, there is nothing else here for them, there is no reason for them to be here except for him. 

They’re here for him. And god knows where they intend to take him.

“No,” Jay sputters, pressing back against the bed. He rocks his shoulders, tugging his arms back from the cuffs, the bed rails rattling. The stitches stretch, threatening to split apart, but he fights past the strain, gritting his teeth to bite back the pain. 

“You try anything funny and I won’t hesitate to use force.”

The one that the quiet man called Sean leans in close, hands on Jay’s arm while peering into the bound fairy’s face. Such a firm voice, the type that is used to giving orders. A foul stench pours from Sean’s lips, turning his stomach; that combined with the purple bags under his squinting eyes, Jay has to ponder how long this strange man has been awake.

“Y’think we’ll get paid for looking into this? Imagine, if we can reverse-engineer anything we might find, we’d be famous,” the lurking accomplice thinks aloud, pattering to and fro on the tips of his toes. He darts toward the bed every few seconds, inching back away again as though he cannot make up his mind. “It’ll be great, we could change the world, modern medicine--”

“If you work yourself up like this and we don’t discover shit you’re not allowed to piss and moan about it,” Sean snaps, rounding on his companion. Jay cannot see his face now, but he doesn’t think he wants to-- the smaller man’s eyes go huge and he immediately ducks his head, muttering what sounds like a multitude of apologies. Sean shakes his head before returning to Jay’s side. He goes fishing in his white coat pocket, drawing out a vial and needle. “This’ll get him nice and quiet. You won’t be any trouble at all.”

Sean pushes the air out of the syringe, and tilts the vial of odd liquid around, jabbing into it with the needle tip.

Vines, vines, he needs his vines, some sort of plant, there have to be plants in this hospital but Jay’s head is pulsing, he can’t reach the life force within them while his own energy is dwindling. He kicks out, the blanket draped upon his body flying away and fluttering to the floor. Sean jerks his head, looking to his companion and back to Jay. Without a word, the man comes forward and grips Jay’s knees, pushing them down. Manic eyes catch Jay’s. There is determination in this stranger’s gaze, and it promises him nothing but harm. 

Sean stands at his side, one hand curled around Jay’s elbow and the other aiming for his bared arm. Jay kicks, writhes, wriggles, but he’s too small, and to grow would require energy he doesn’t have anymore. He opens his mouth, a whimper tumbling from his dry throat, a sound that would go unheard by anybody who could help him. A second try-- the whimper grows into a scream that tears his insides, not long enough, not loud enough, and he falls silent. 

His skin gives at the prod of the needle and it sinks inside, flooding him and the effect is nearly immediate-- his head sloshes again, fuck, he might swim away on the waves that are flipping throughout his insides, his brain, his stomach.

Suddenly the bed is so comfortable, easy to slide down in and curl up until there is nothing left in the world but the safe place behind his eyelids. 

Hot stinking breath puffs against his face, reminding him that there is something out here, something to fear, a someone. Sean hovers over his collapsing form, watching him break and buckle under the ocean roving in his head. Unlike his giggling and hopeful friend, he does not wear a wicked grin. 

There is a righteous man looking at him, working for the good of those he operates on.

Jay isn’t a person, he’s a potential threat. He is unknown, and refuses to be known, so he is a creature to be feared. 

That knowledge, that Sean’s intentions are not cruel, fails to settle the frantic thrum of Jay’s heart. 

His eyes are closing. The cuffs click open-- he could get up, now, right now, if he wanted, and he does, but, sleep is above him, swaying, putting on a hypnotic dance just for him. A pinch in his elbow; there goes the needle feeding him strange liquids.

He’s swimming away, no, he’s drowning, he can’t keep his head over the water and he’s going down--

And his life raft comes in the form of glass, a shower of crystals bursting from his view of the city. They rain down upon him, sent hurtling sideways by the force of the creature that appears in the midst of the storm. 

“What the fuck are /you/!”

Barking.

Above the roar that’s taken up residence in Jay’s ears, he can hear /barking/, and not just any barking. His chest swells at the sound, and he has to force his eyelids apart, has to be sure he isn’t dreaming of a better, safer place. 

Sean stands away from him now, hands raised as though in surrender. His accomplice joins him, darting to stand in Sean’s shadow. Tim stands on all fours in front of them, blood streaming from his shoulder and cheek. 

Those cuts might as well not be there at all, though. His hackles stand at attention, his golden eyes bright and dangerous. Lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, he slowly raises up on his legs and unleashes a long snarl that ought to rip apart his throat. 

“It-- it looks like a guy but, but Sean, Sean, no, look at his teeth, let’s go, Sean, please--”

“If it’s a fuckin’ guy it can be taken down too, get over there and hold him still,” Sean demands of his accomplice. The entire room falls briefly still, though Tim can’t seem to contain his anger; he twitches, hands trembling, claws digging into the meat of his palm. Sean rolls his eyes and jabs back into the bottle in his pocket, muttering under his breath. “Gotta do it myself, then, I can do that, goddamn coward…”

Jay opens his mouth, wants to tell him, no, no, back off, don’t come any closer. The sound that comes out of him is pathetic and airy, almost a cough. 

Tim’s head turns, stare fixing on Jay, glassy eyes softening. There is a question in his gaze; are you okay? And Jay wants to tell him, yes, he came just in time, he couldn’t be any better, now let’s /go/.

But their split second of relief and calm breaks apart with little warning-- Sean lunges, needle at the ready. Jay jerks into sitting up, his stomach burning from the energetic movement.

It has to be nothing compared to what Sean feels in the next moment. 

The needle makes contact, sinks in, but he never pushes in the plunger. Tim roars, the gentle gaze that he spared for Jay vanishing in an instant. He slaps the offending weapon away, sending it to the ground and shoving Sean back, his boot cracking the syringe in half. 

Sean’s screaming hurts Jay far more than his needle could have. He can’t clap his hands to his ears and block out the wretched sound. Flesh rips, blood flies. His feet kick about from beneath Tim’s body, his knees pinning the man to the floor. 

Jay has seen Tim use his claws on animals. Watched while they sank in and did their job, worked as they were expected to.

This time, he can’t bring himself to look for a single second. Sean refuses to let his pain go unheard, heaves out curses from the top of his lungs. Tim couldn’t overpower his voice if he tried, and he /is/ trying; from the corner of his eye, Jay sees thick fingers wrap around a veiny throat, cutting off air and turning his screaming into gagging.

The accomplice is gone from the room, but Jay can hear him above the chaos on the floor: “I’ll go find help!”

A blaring siren follows, sure to awaken anybody else that’s inside the hospital. There are already feet shuffling around and voices calling out for a nurse, someone, anyone to explain just what’s going on.

Yet, the struggle taking place on the ground refuses to cease. If anything, Tim grows more violent-- he takes Sean by the head and slams the back of his skull against the solid floor several times. If that affected him, he doesn’t show it. Now that his throat is free and he isn’t attempting to scratch Tim’s hands away, he’s able to shove out at the beast’s chest, which in turn serves to infuriate Tim. 

His mouth opens, incisors shining in the gleam of the fluorescent lights that suddenly flickered on at the sound of the alarm. How Jay realizes it in the split-second before it can happen, he has no idea, perhaps he knows Tim’s hunting patterns too well or he knew this had gone on long enough. He rises from the bed, pain be damned, and he stumbles, his knees hit the ground but he crawls forth, reaches out a single hand and feels fur, frazzled and sticking out in all directions, warm.

“Tim, no--”

He doesn’t need to go further than that.

The beast’s head whips around at the sound of his name, and the fury fueled sheen of fog upon his eyes seems to fade. Sean? What Sean? There’s only a desperate fairy calling out to him, telling him no, and who else does he listen to but the fairy, his fairy?

That yellow gaze turns to Sean’s trembling body one last time, to shoot him a silent warning. He receives it and doesn’t even bother responding. His head tucks down against his chest, as though being unable to see Tim might make him go away. After that, he might as well not exist; Tim is on his feet and grabbing Jay up, tucking him safe against his chest, he’s safe, finally, safe. 

It’s too easy to get lost in his musk and the defined arms that could crush him, especially in this helpless state, but they choose not to, these arms love him, their owner loves him and he’s /safe/. He utters a shuddering breath into Tim’s neck and loops his own arms around the beast’s nape, hanging on, just to be sure he doesn’t slip away again.

They’re moving, Jay can feel it, but he can’t bring himself to break away from the beast’s heat now that he has it. Rather, he doesn’t, until he hears the rapid slap of feet wearing scrubs approaching. 

“Sean, Lenny pulled the alarm and told us what’s happened, where… oh my god,” Janey’s voice breaks into the hum that’s rising inside of Jay. He blinks his heavy eyes at her, tries to show that he’s okay, but her hand is diving into her coat pocket now, going for a phone and she’s dialing someone, one more person that will be dragged into the scenario.

There are too many of them now. Four. Four people who know that there is a creature that takes on the shape of humans and glimmers as the stars would on a clear evening, violet blood powering it along. Four people who saw Tim, closer to human, but one look at his sharp nails and overgrowth of hair shows he is anything but.

Jay fixes his stare on Janey, pictures it in his mind. A scenario in which she never saw Tim. She never came in to find that her patient was being taken away by a creature covered in hair and blood. There is no Tim, no werewolf, no one but Jay, and, how to explain away Sean’s shredded shirt that is soaked in his own blood?

Why, Jay did it. Jay broke past the cuffs when Sean came in to check on him, not to take him away to a place where nobody could ever find his body. Lenny helped, because Lenny is such a helpful sort of person, but he saw what happened and ran for it, knowing that it would be better to find assistance than to have two downed doctors-- not because he’s a coward or anything, how absurd.

No, this mess? It’s him, they were right to be cautious of his presence. 

There must be a better way, like if he could erase their memories of his existence entirely, but how many eyes passed over his form during his time spent under a cloud and beneath the ocean? Too many, this is the best he can do and he must have touched upon Janey and Sean’s minds, Lenny’s too, he’s hovering in the doorway now staring, and they stare back, eyes blank.

If Jay could, he would apologize. They didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this mess.

But it was the best they could do. 

Time juddered to a crawl when Jay took their memories into his hands, but in reality it moved on as normal, and their frozen faces fly away from view when he blinks once. White bricks blur before his eyes, a hand is wrapped secure about his waist, and the trees whisper secrets to him while Tim leaps from branch to branch, careful to keep from lingering long and breaking the delicate limbs.

Though this is not his forest, it is nature, it is close enough, and at last, he lets his senses drown under the ocean that has filled him up to the very brim. It overflows, splashing into his eyes and leaving everything dark and foggy.

Tim’s mouth presses into the top of his head, and he lets that tide him over. 

\--

He has to stop.

His legs, his arms, they’re shaking now, as hard as Jay was shaking when he first gathered him up. 

Luck is on Tim’s side tonight. None of what went right is due to his skill or smarts. He didn’t know for sure whether the doctors would actually take Jay after his continuous screaming into the night. Breaking into the hospital room before those men could take his fairy away to who knows where? Luck, and timing-- he tracked down his fairy’s scent, caught a whiff of the sweet violet blood and chased it down. 

And now, when he slinks into his own apartment building, head ducked and shadows acting as his closest friends, he comes down from the high, and his body might as well be made of tissue paper. Jay’s blood is full of lead and he would drop like an anchor from his arms if Tim wasn’t clinging onto his frail form with all his fucking might, or what little might he has left.

The janitor must have slipped through here before the two of them slunk in through the back. He stands on his two trembling back legs, knees sure to give out. His reflection shows him a pathetic creature, face painted red by exertion and determination to stay upright. Teeth that once hung past his lower lip are receding into his gums, sliding inside, making their presence known. Leaning his shoulder to the wall, he pretends he isn’t about to collapse, pretends his muscles aren’t breaking down. His human self is strong enough to get by at work, but the switch over is more than a little jarring. 

The upside? He can stoop down on his knees and he won’t flop over from the weight. Tim’s apartment key is right where he left it, safely tucked into the dirt of the potted fern his landlord tends to at the same hour, every morning, right on the dot. Must have come through here a few moments ago, the key is cold and damp and dirt hangs onto his fingertips. Luck, again, luck has him, favors him, as though it knows how precious the bundle in his arms is.

His key scratches the doorknob when he jabs out at it, aiming blindly past the tears springing to his eyes. The metal fights against itself, until he somehow slides the key into place and turns it just right but that’s where his threshold gives way. 

Jay is his first priority, as always, even when he is at his worst-- he places the fairy down, back supported by the wall. Tim joins him on the floor, though with nothing to support him, he has no choice but to heave and choke on all fours. Nothing comes up-- he had nothing to feed on while under the influence of the beast, no blood or meat, and he’s paying for it. A sob breaks from his throat when his arms bend and send him tumbling to the floor, clutching at his twisting insides. 

His skin burns; where fur once was, flames take their place, forcing him to scratch and leave jagged marks. Fuck, his nails aren’t finished dulling. He has to lay useless on his side, flexing his hands, refusing to let them claw and pick and leave him bloody but his skin /twitches/, there are bugs beneath his flesh and they’re trying to run away with his body. It’s his body, not theirs, this was always his body, he just had this awful disease thrust upon him, not his fucking fault…

Golden beams are looking in on him through the windows when he digs deep and discovers the strength needed for lifting his head. The night, the terrible, terrible, too long night.

It’s over.

Jay, though, Jay remains unaware, not blissfully ignorant and asleep but sleeping nonetheless. Where the needle struck his flesh is a stream of blood, thin and harmless, but it’s what pushes Tim to his feet; got a job, gotta take care of it, take care of Jay, it’s the least he could do. 

Hands and knees, then knees, then feet. He scoops Jay up, feather-light. Did he forget to grow himself into his true size, or was he like this from the moment he stretched his bones back out after being shot? Tim can’t remember, the moments spent tending to the blood pouring out of him are a horrid blur now. He already has the worst time of remembering what he got up to while behaving under the beast’s demands. 

At this size, though, Jay can fit on the couch perfectly, his head and toes failing to brush up against the arms as they did the last time he was there. 

He would be beautiful to any eye that beheld him, at any other moment. The fairy that lays before him now though reeks of antiseptic and something akin to Windex. His hair stands and stretches in every direction but down against his scalp. Tim would pet it back down, if he wasn’t afraid of waking Jay from the little bit of rest he’s getting. Skin waxy and toting a faint green hue, it’s likely there will be a need for a bucket in here later on, when Jay wakes. With some careful maneuvering, Tim shifts the man to lay on his side instead of his back. Just in case. 

Bandaids, bandaids, he has them somewhere. Bathroom medicine cabinet sounds right. He steps away and moves on tiptoes to the corridor off to the left of the living room, where the bathroom sits as more of a glorified water closet than an actual area for showering and preening.

It’s there that he finally catches his reflection in full, rather than a shadow of it on a polished floor. A half-naked man stares and frowns at the ragged sight of him, and he frowns back.

Nothing like knowing he’s been running amok through the town in nothing but his underwear and a layer of fading fur. He didn’t hear any screaming from over his head or see any cars on the way here, so maybe he didn’t catch anybody’s attention. Maybe. Who knows. Fuck. He just wanted to make sure Jay was /safe/.

Dark circles burrow into the hollows of his eyes. He looks as tired as he feels; maybe he should drag Jay to the bed, they’ll collapse there and forget about the brightening sky above. This naked creature glowering at him, covered in self-inflicted scratches and a filthy sheen of dirt and sweat, he is ridiculous, and he has to laugh at him, and he keeps laughing when he opens the mirror that doubles as the cabinet door. 

The sound putters away, until he doesn’t know what it is.

It could be a sob. A giggle. A yawn that is swallowed before it can escape.

He has his mouth firmly shut when he returns to the living room-- but for nothing, Jay is pushing himself up from the couch cushions on wobbling elbows and knees. Tim lunges, taking the fairy by the back of his shirt and tugging him down to lay prone under his hands again. He hears Jay speaking, but his voice is hardly more than a wisp, breathy and soft. 

Once his needle puncture is bandaged, that’s when Tim lets himself go, lets the relief flood in and bring him to his knees in front of Jay, cradling his head to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, this was my fault,” he utters into Jay’s ear, making certain he hears and understands him. He never meant for this to happen. This arrangement, it was meant to keep the public and himself safe-- he never dreamed Jay would be the one under fire. “I love you too much for you to do this again, you can’t ever do something like that again, they were after /me/, not you, goddammit, Jay…”

Fingers weave through his mussed hair, stroking it. When was his last shower? More than three days ago, nobody should want to touch his hair. But here Jay is, just as disgusting and torn apart as he is, and he’s smiling the weakest and most loving of smiles.

“I did it to protect you, Tim, I could’ve done it better, but I did it.”

Such a scratchy voice, the words gargling in his throat along with god knows what. Tim tears himself from Jay’s side, dashing to the kitchen and nearly dropping the glass he snatches out of the sink to fill it up with water.

“Yeah-- but, well, you… you’re never doing it again, because we’re not getting into that kind of situation again, and you won’t get hurt, and…”

His voice rambles on, but Tim doesn’t hear it, he sees Jay, only sees Jay and he could’ve never seen him again, never, back to being the last living strange not-quite-human thing on Earth.

He forces the glass into Jay’s trembling hands, and he collapses beside him, where his feet have moved back to allow Tim room. His head rests at the back of the couch, lactic acid seated in his muscles as though he needs one more reminder he’s been up for hours without a single break.

The city seems to sense that they need the silence. Not a sound, nothing, when it is far past the time that Tuscaloosa ought to be awakening and rising to attend to the many needs of these many citizens. Cars do not blare their horns, tires do not screech, no voices call out for attention.

Why, even the six o’ clock train is running late today. It rattles by, when Tim dares to let his eyes shut, let them rest, for just a moment. The couch rocks underneath them, and Jay cries out, sitting up too suddenly and grabbing onto Tim’s arm for support. He holds him, though his eyes stay shut-- as if he could actually fall asleep while this fucking train does its horrendous drive-by. 

Tim does eventually lift himself from the strange spell, having to admit to himself that he’s at a loss of what he ought to do. Jay is here, he is as healed up as he’s going to be for the time being, and now they’re home, catching their breath.

What do people do on the couch, in front of the TV? They watch the TV, of course, and so Tim takes the remote and switches it on, not bothering to change the channel that flickers on or fix the volume so it’s at a more bearable level. The simple act of using the remote is too painfully normal. 

Jay must have left it on the news before they left, to catch up on the weather report one last time. Shit, how long ago was that? It’s impossible, it can’t have been a couple of days, surely it was more like a month. Or a century.

News reporter he can’t recognize is reporting in a busy street, police sirens howling in the background. She clutches the mic with a white knuckled hand, her eyes shining, but she maintains a professional tone, reporting from the front of--

“Oh god no,” Jay mutters, pressing his face into Tim’s shoulder when the headline comes rolling across the screen in huge bold lettering: Homeless Man Wreaks Havoc At Tuscaloosa General. 

Tim doesn’t let him come up for air, not once. They speak of injuries that Tim gave, not Jay, but they don’t report the homeless person as a great hairy mutt but as a tiny, sickly boy that was brought in off the street. This boy is not what he seems, a nurse reports, her curly locks bouncing in time with her nodding head. He was quiet, she said, she thought he was harmless, but then she walked in on the patient attacking his own doctor; how horrific!

“He has since been seen fleeing the scene. It is suggested that anybody approached by the man in question keep their distance and report his presence to the authorities,” the blonde reporter ends the story, drilling into the camera and the audience with her urgent gaze. “The assaulted doctor is being treated for his wounds and is expected to make a full recovery.”

Tim leans forward, hitting the remote’s power button before the anchors back in the studio can give their own opinions on the situation. Alright. Clearly, trying to behave as normal people would isn’t the way to go.

“So you changed their memories,” Tim says, voice low. He isn’t scolding Jay, but he sure wishes he had checked in with him before doing that. Not that he could have done much in his wolfish state but it’s still nice to be kept up to date on such things. 

“I thought it was better than them going after you,” Jay confesses into the safe confines of Tim’s neck. He paws at him, seeking validation that he did the right thing. “I wanted to erase their memories entirely but who knows who else saw me. Anyway, if… if they think I did it, they won’t wonder who did, and it’ll explain why I ran off, and, and I just want to keep you safe. It’s what you brought me around for.”

It is. That’s exactly what he brought Jay around for. Keep people safe from him by keeping him safe from them.

Tim needs to maybe never speak again. Jay likes to take his words and use them as justification for letting harm find him, in the name of following orders. No, not orders, surely, but Tim did hire him, this was a job and Jay still takes it seriously. 

He’s gathering the tiny fairy into his lap before he can stop himself; he keeps receiving reminders, yes, he’s small right now, but now he’s on top of him, fitting snug on the tops of his thighs.

“Promise me you’ll tell me what you’re planning to do before you do it from now on. Promise.”

In theory, to Tim’s ears, it sounds to be a reasonable request. Reality likes to fuck them over, though, and time moves fast, toting its power around when it has nothing else to show off. 

Still, he has to ask. He hangs on onto Jay’s body, holds him closer, has to have skin against skin. Glitter rubs off onto his bared arms. Evidence that Jay is here. With him. Not in a hospital, under the eyes of strange man, not on the forest floor bleeding out, here.

Jay’s fingertips brush over his thudding heart. It slows, to where he can breathe at a normal pace.

“I’ll do my best. I--” 

He utters a short squeaking noise when Tim squeezes him. It would resemble a laugh if he didn’t know better.

“I promise!”

He pets over Tim’s heart again, every stroke coaxing the tension from his muscles. Soon, he’s sinking into the couch, where he can do nothing more than look down at the little fairy. Jay is the same, melting against Tim’s side, and for the first time since he found him cooped up in the hospital bed, Tim sees somebody who is truly relaxed. 

Or, about as relaxed as anyone can be when they know they can never come back to this city, chased out by their own folly and failure at quick thinking.

“I don’t think I was ever meant for city life, it’s too loud,” Jay thinks aloud, reaching around Tim and pawing for the remote. He toys with the buttons, flicking the television on and off, the volume and channels changing at a random and rapid pace. “The trees are my friends and… humans, not so much, they’re okay but it’s not the same.”

“Not like you don’t have a place to go out in the woods,” Tim pipes in, receiving an affirming nod in return.

“I do. And… besides, you’ll bring me all the fun new technology toys, right?”

A faint grin spreads across Tim’s lips, and he closes his eyes again. Maybe this time he will find sleep.

“Every toy, all the toys. As long as you keep yourself safe.”

“It’s a deal.”


	18. Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters find their place in the world, and it’s with each other.

Jessica strolls the dirt trail at a gradual pace, heel toe heel toe. Her music blasts in her ears, but the violins and harps might as well be part of the scenery. These tranquil moments spent in the forest are to be treasured-- the sunlight that shines into the leaves and tumbles down onto her hair are more valuable than diamonds or any other precious gem.

Gorgeous, peaceful, quiet... and lonely. Very lonely. Strange, she always takes this path: how could she not when it's the path she met Amy on while jogging? 

But it's never this empty. The birds might as well have gone south for the winter, but this /is/ the south.  
Jessica chose this trail in the first place because it's known for its birds. Her first walk through these great oak trees, she was serenaded by dozens of feathered friends. They were not shy: these birds came down and pecked at her feet while she sat resting, nibbling up granola crumbs from the grass.

Now they're gone. Just like that, they've vanished, when Jessica knows she saw them yesterday. She found a nest stuffed full of newborns, egg shells littering the dirt beneath their cozy tree branch nook. The mother robin screamed at her until she was well out of range of its sight, and yet it continued squawking.

She tests it. Removing her ear buds and letting them drop against her chest, she pauses and lifts her eyes to the branches above her. Beams of gold shroud her form, warming her and promising of a winter thaw soon enough.

They don't tell her why she cannot hear the songs of robins and sparrows.

What she does hear are footsteps. Heavy thudding footsteps, the type that could shake the earth to its core. She has no time to prepare herself for what may be coming or to turn tail and run-- twigs crackle to announce the intruder’s arrival, ducking out from in between two flowering bushes.

Jessica cannot reason out what she is looking at. At first she is sure it’s a homeless man, naked from the waist up and goddamn, how long has it been since his face has shaken hands with a razor? He crawls on all fours, shoulder blades sharp and raised. Harsh air falls from his lips, loud and wet.

A sharp intake of breath when he lifts his head-- he’s seen her. She freezes, waits, sees his mouth open.

Though he remains in the shadows of the thickest branches and leaves, she can see from here: those are not human teeth. They gleam a bright hungry white, catching shards of sunlight. She isn’t seeing what she thinks she’s seeing, but, this is a monster, she can’t put a name to it but it’s a monster and she needs to leave, /now/. 

“Hey!”

A voice? But it surely can’t belong to the creature that is staring daggers into her back. The soft lilt reminds her of a child’s, though, and a child, here, /now/, she can’t leave a kid here when there is a snarling beast, human, thing poking about. She whirls about, opening her mouth to tell the child to run.

She sees a man instead, or, she thinks they are a man, maybe it is best not to assume. They stand at the beast’s side, a hand resting on the back of its neck. It sits on its haunches, lifting a leg to itch at its pointed ear. 

“What’s this you found here, Tim? Is this a new friend?”

The seated beast grunts, snuffling loudly. He noses into his companion’s hand and, somehow, seems to nod in her direction. Jessica takes a step back, and-- and she does what she should have done before, she let herself be stunned into place, stupid, stupid, she knows better. Go, go, to the city, where they cannot reach her, she is safe there where life makes sense and there aren’t creatures that bear fangs and none that boast of-- wings.

Indeed, wings, she is sure it is the howl of the wind in her ears but it is the rapid slap of wings against air, translucent and resembling glass but they keep the person, no, /creature/ aloft. They keep at her side, smiling a sweet smile that would slow her down were it not for the fucking wings.

“I’m sorry. You seem nice but we can’t let anyone else know,” they say, their voice crystal clear in this battle of speeds. Their hand comes to rest upon her forehead, and the world freezes, ice, the ground is ice, her feet are ice. “It’s nothing personal. Blame the health industry.”

Her life melts into nothing, strings of color hanging by a single strand and a smile remains at her side--

She stands in her home, clutching her empty water bottle and tshirt heavy with sweat. That was one of the longest runs she’s ever gone on, she had no idea that she was capable of such a feat. Morning dew coated the grass when she left the apartment, sneakers laced and head held high.

The afternoon sun has melted away the damp that greeted her upon stepping outside. No dew, no chirping birds-- it was replaced by humans and their goings-on, in their shrieking cars and the slap of their feet on the heated sidewalk. They chatter, voices congregating and blending together into one great mass of sound.

“There you are!”

Thud, thud, thud, down the hallway, past the bedrooms and into the living room where Jessica stands: Amy slams into her, squeezing her, as though she hadn’t seen her this morning and mumbled a faint ‘good morning’ into her pillows. 

“I’ve been texting you for ages! I was gonna call the police if you weren’t going to respond in the next hour and I got so fucking scared, I thought you might’ve fallen into the creek or tripped or a bear or… oh Jessica, don’t pull this radio silence shit with me, please!” 

The woman babbling at a rapid rate into her chest shakes, gripping into her damp running shirt. That’s enough confusion for Jessica; she takes Amy’s hands and steers them away from her back, holding her at arm’s length instead.

“I must have had my phone on vibrate and I didn’t realize I was being messaged, Amy,” she soothes, speaking slow. She smiles, though inside, she shivers. “Don’t worry about it, I’m here now.”

Her blonde tresses flutter in the breeze streaming in from the opened window, falling over her sweet face. Amy pushes her hair from her eyes, revealing a surprising lack of makeup beneath. Was it so bad that she couldn’t be bothered to do her usual routine? It does not matter whether she is going out or staying in on the couch. Eyeliner and eyeshadow is her nicotine.

“I was catching up on the news after you left, and there were a bunch of articles about creatures being spotted in Rosswood lately,” she says past a slight hiccup. “They were mostly disproving there being anything there, like, a ton of people visit the park every day and they don’t remember seeing anything weird, but I couldn’t help wondering when you went quiet.”

Hands clasped together, Amy’s eyes fall to the floor. She takes a deep breath before speaking further.

“Pretty silly of me, I guess, but I dunno what I’d do if something happened to my girlfriend.”

Jessica’s chest clenches at that. She has to take Amy back into her space, pulling her to her chest and holding her head so that she may kiss the crown of her hair.

“I’m sorry, I promise I won’t let that happen again.”

Amy hiccups again, reaching to wipe a tear from her cheek. 

“You better not,” she huffs, pulling half of a smile just for Jessica. She brushes her hand against Jessica’s wrist, nodding to the kitchen. “Well, I think I can make you something to eat now that you’re back. I don’t think you even grabbed toast before going-- bad.”

Yes, yes, very bad, Jessica has to smile and laugh and jostle Amy on her way to the kitchen, slipping past her to reach the fridge. 

That leaves Jessica with her dread, her fluttering heart, all alone in the living room.

She clutches her water bottle, hears it crackle in her tight grip. There was nothing in the woods today. Nothing. No creatures, nothing beastly, nothing that could leave a track that boasts of claws.

But there was nothing that sang either. No feathers, no chittering as squirrels fled back to their tree hollows upon her noisy arrival. Rabbits, chipmunks, deer, no, none of it, nothing.

Looking to the window, past the shivering floral drapes, she sees Rosswood in the distance, treetops stretching to lick at the clouds and pull them down.

What she doesn’t know is that there is a fairy, and there is a werewolf, hiding in the deepest parts of those woods. 

Maybe there is something else like them there, someone else, but if there is, they’ve not met them, and they’re content with this. 

They play together, love together, live together, clinging to each precious moment when once upon a time, not so long ago, everything they had was nearly swept out from beneath them.

The pair mean no harm, though they do giggle watching confused joggers and hunters turn away, under the assumption that they found a rowdy dog and nothing more. Why did they chase after this dog? How silly of them.

Rosswood is their home, their safe place.

Bitter monsters do not share well, not with those who hold violent wishes or ill will toward them.

They do, however, share well with one another, and that is how things will stay.

Two bitter monsters, no humans allowed.


End file.
